


What happened in Vegas...

by Jules_Ink



Series: the Vegas!verse [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Domestic Life - Arrow Style, F/M, Vegas!AU, Vegas!Verse, season one rewrite, very slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-27 15:12:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 44
Words: 296,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2697512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jules_Ink/pseuds/Jules_Ink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's all fun and games until you wake up hung-over and married to a stranger. Five years ago Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak made a drunken mistake that could never be corrected. After years on a hellish island he comes back as a man on a mission only to find out that what happens in Vegas doesn't always stay in Vegas. (Season One Rewrite)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I know some of you were hoping for a _“The way back home”_ -sequel, and I am very sorry to disappoint you, but I just had this idea when I read the first chapter of bri617's story _“Love Is A Kind Of Warfare”_ and I couldn't get it out of my head. So, thanks to Bri for that. ;-) (Even though, this story is nothing like hers, I just want you to know who's ultimately to blame.)
> 
> Before we get started, a few words of “warning”: If you're looking for a quick Olicity-fix, I'm sorry to say this story might not be your thing. It is turning out to be an even bigger project than I believed it to be when I started writing and there's nothing quick about it. Since this story is far from being done, I will most likely not update multiple times a week like you're used to, even though I'll start with posting two chapters. It's just that the prologue differs so much from the actual story that I felt like putting both out there at once. And I promise: I will update regularly.
> 
> Please note that I chose the rating, because the story involves mature content in various forms (in latter chapters).
> 
> I do not own the Arrow and intend no copyright infringement. This work is simply meant as private entertainment of the readers (and its author). It's not to be shared on other sides other than this, ff.net and my Tumblr.
> 
> This story is dedicated to **Albiona**. She is the most amazing person and the only reason I'm posting the story. I hated the fic after a few chapters and was ready to give up on it, but her input and encouragement made me enjoy it again. Her feedback means the world to me and I am thankful for all the time and effort she invested in my writing. All my love.
> 
> Okay, more than enough said. I hope you enjoy this. Let me know what you think.

**August 27** **th** **, 2007**

The sexy secretary thing she had going on was such a turn-on. Hungrily his eyes slipped over her. The sight she presented him really shouldn't excite him as much as it did. There was no cleavage visible, basically no naked skin, no ass tightly cupped by skinny jeans. Instead, he saw a black pencil skirt and a pink blouse that was neatly buttoned up. Still, the idea to peel those good girl clothes away, sliding the zipper of her skirt down and letting it drop to the floor, the mental image of opening her blouse button by button, made him harden. The thought of opening the low ponytail that was tightly tugging back her hair and tangling his hands in her brown locks while he kissed her senseless, the imaginary vision of her looking up at him over her glasses while she went down on her knees and closed her lips around him made him just want to grab her right here and right now.  
  
He wanted to do bad things to this good girl.  
  
Instead, he forced his eyes away from her full lips to settle on her eyes. They were a little unfocused behind her glasses. He had to give her that – she had downed those shots like a pro; there must be a wild side to her. He wanted to explore that, wanted to explore her.  
  
Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Dude, that's your cue.”  
  
He left the imagery he had created for himself and blinked stupidly. “What?”  
  
His question was answered with drunken laughter. A male chuckle came from behind him and he knew that was his best friend, Tommy Merlyn. His chuckle mixed with the female giggling of the girls in front of him, but there was also a deep and heavy sigh by the man who stood on his left. In the next moment that man cleared his throat and stated, “I said: Do you, Oliver Jonas Queen, take this woman to be your wife? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect her, forsaking all others and holding only onto her?”  
  
Oh, yeah, right. Oliver straightened up a little, placing his eyes on the girl standing opposite of him, smirked and said, “I do.”  
  
This time there was hooting coming from behind him. Tommy, the best man, patted his shoulder again. Of course he approved. The whole thing had been his idea.  
  
The minister – who, of course, wasn't really a minister, but only some dude wearing the cheapest suit Oliver had ever seen….Seriously, not even his driver would be caught in anything like that. Anyway, that cheap suit now turned to the brunette that had captured Oliver's dirty fantasy about four hours ago. “And do you, Felicity Megan Smoak, take this man to be your husband? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect him, forsaking all others and holding only onto him?”  
  
Amusement made her eyes shine as she said, “I do.”  
  
Exaggeratedly, Oliver raised his fist in a victorious gesture, before he pointed his index finger at her, “Correctest answer to anything ever!”  
  
He smirked, not caring that his grammar was swimming in a sea of Vodka-Red Bull and that his words were slurred by the Tequila he had added for the simple fact that it had given him the opportunity to make her lick his finger clean of salt. He saw Felicity, the girl he had just married for the sake of a wedding-night, laugh and it only broadened his grin. He placed his attention back on the cheaply-suited chapel employee, “Are we at the kissing part yet?”  
  
“By the authority invested in me by the state of Nevada, I declare you husband and wife. Congratulations. You may now kiss your bride.”  
  
“Boo-YA!” That was Tommy.  
  
Oliver didn't need to be told that twice, he reached for Felicity's face and pulled her to him. His lips crashed on hers and he opened his mouth instantly, kissing her deeply and demandingly. Oh fuck, she tasted so good. She felt good. She brought her arms around him and closed the gap between them. Her body aligned to his perfectly, adding friction where he needed it, but not enough, not as much as he wanted. Right then he knew that he had done the perfectly right thing to follow Tommy's suggestion.  
  
“Wow,” that was the maid of honor, the red-headed friend of Felicity whose name Oliver hadn't even tried to remember, because she really didn't matter in this scenario. She was nothing but Tommy's lay of the night. “Mr. and Mrs. Queen, get a fucking room!”  
  
That caused Oliver to break the kiss. “Yes,” he breathed, “let's do that.”

 

**August 28**   **th** **, 2007**  

It's all fun and games until you wake up hung over and married to a stranger.

Yesterday, Tommy's suggestion had made perfect sense. Since Felicity had claimed to not be the type of girl to just take any guy home, it had been the logical conclusion that he needed to propose to prove that he wasn't just _any_ guy. When he had been wasted, that had been the smartest solution to a problem in, like, ever.

Of course, Oliver's brain had been in his pants by then.

What exactly Felicity's excuse for agreeing was for all of this, he wasn't exactly sure. But as he now glanced around her room (her childhood bedroom actually), he guessed that she should be smarter than that – at least, according to the trophies lining up on the shelf opposite of the bed he was laying in. The engravings made it perfectly clear that he had scored his first ever mathlete last night – proof that you didn't have to be a cheerleader to be crazy flexible.

Last night had also proven that this thing about never judging a book by its cover was true, too, because Felicity most definitely turned out much more memorable than he had expected her to be. Glancing down at the still sleeping girl, curled close to him in her tiny bed, he couldn't help but smirk. Part of him was tempted to wake her up with kisses and ready her for round two... which would technically be round three. The smirk grew wider. That thing she had done with her tongue had been amazing. Maybe, he could teach Laurel how to do that....

Inwardly, he groaned. Way to rain on his own parade! Laurel had asked him to move in with her last week. It had been her first open request that they should take the next step and become more serious. She had said all those things because her previous, more subtle hints hadn't gotten a reaction out of him. Oh, he had noticed and understood, but he had chosen to ignore all of them because he wasn't ready to settle down yet.

The irony of having that thought while looking down at a girl that was technically his wife wasn't lost on Oliver.

But this wasn't settling down, he knew – and he knew that Felicity knew, too. Last night had been drunken fun. It would turn into another bad-boy Oliver story like the time he had pissed on that cop or when he had drunkenly driven his Porsche into that Lamborghini-store – he had managed to turn the latter into an symbolic act, his friends in the party scene had eaten that one up. Now he had added a drunken marriage in Vegas to a sexy nerd.... Could be worse. Still, right then he couldn't help but wonder how much she would cost him. Or, rather, how much she would cost his father.

Maybe, he could call his lawyers and get them to handle this thing without it turning into a big deal. Maybe, Laurel wouldn't have to know. Maybe he could keep the drunken “I do” from his on-off girlfriend who was definitely “on” at the moment and waiting for a proposal.... His on-girlfriend who he had cheated on. Again. The on-girlfriend he had cheated on again while also leading on her sister, Sara. Okay, when you put it like that, it really didn't sound good. Not even in his own head.

Maybe, he should take his father up on his offer and go on that yachting-trip with him. Would be nice to be far away when this whole thing became known, would be nice to be far away from the trouble, unreachable on the _Queen's Gambit_. It would be even nicer if he had somebody to fool around with....

He placed his attention back on the brunette, who was now stirring next to him. That would work out perfectly, he decided, and bent down to kiss her naked shoulder, which was peaking out from under bright pink covers.

The sudden touch startled her so much that she awoke and scrambled away from him – right out of the small bed. With a thud she hit the ground. Still smirking, Oliver leaned forward and looked down at where she lay.

“Hey there. I mean no harm.”

Brushing her hair out of her face, she pushed herself up. For a moment she just looked at him and he could practically see her collecting her thoughts. Finally, she came up with something to say. “Oliver....”

“The one and only.” He held his hand out to her. “Come back to bed, baby.”

But she made no move. “Don't ‘baby’ me. I hate it when guys call me that.”

“Fair enough. I still want you to come back to bed.” He sent her his most winning smile and added, “Mrs. Queen.”

That had been the wrong thing to say. He could see it in her face, which momentarily lost its color. Her blue eyes grew huge and the thought that this deer-in-headlights-look shouldn't turn him on so much popped up in his head. Now her hand flew to her forehead. “Oh my God!”

“Yeah, that's what you said last night.”

Apparently, she didn't find him as funny as he believed himself to be. “How can you be so calm about this? We made a huge mistake last night. We did a stupid, stupid thing!” She was taking really fast. “I told Vicki that every time I drink Vodka something bad happens. And back then I was talking about the time I tried to secretly puke in her mother's fern. This here, this is worse than fern-puking.... And now I kinda wish I hadn't told you that, because that's a really disgusting story you really didn't need to know. I will stop talking in three... two... one.”

He just smiled at her. That was so dorky, but strangely cute. Yeah, he could totally go for another round with her.

Sadly, she wasn't sharing his line of thoughts. She was still in panic-mode. “I grew up in Las Vegas. How could this happen to me? We make fun of tourists that get wasted and married! Because it's a stupid, _stupid_ thing!”

“Well, I am a tourist.”

Again, there was no positive reaction from her, no sign of amusement or humor. “We need to do something about this!”

He made a dismissive gesture. “My lawyers will take care of that.” He patted the mattress. “Now, are you coming back to bed or what?”

Staying on the floor, she blinked up at him, “Your lawyers.”

“My lawyers,” he repeated. “We should take a trip while they sort this thing out. I want you to join me on my father's yacht. When we come back, the officials will know how much money you get.”

“Money?” She stared at him in complete disbelieve, “I don't want your money. We should just go and get an annulment. In Vegas that's as easy as getting married.”

“Seems like a whole lot of effort for something that other people could do for us.”

Her mouth fell open slightly. She even made that look sexy, Oliver thought. Or maybe it was just the memory of what she could do with those lips. Lips that now formed very unsexy works, “Wow, I married an asshole. How could I miss _that_ last night?”

He kept from telling her that the alcohol had most likely been the reason and simply sighed, “So you won't go on a cruise with me?"

“Of course not! I won't go anywhere with you! Fall term starts in three days and by then I'll have to be back in Massachusetts.”

“You're a buzz-kill,” he said and sat up, his naked feet coming to rest on her soft, yellow carpet.

Her blue eyes darkened as she pursed her lips. “What about the annulment?”

“I told you, my lawyers will take care of it. Just give me your number and let them handle things.”

He got up. When she realized he was naked, she quickly glanced away and he smirked. There was no reason to be shy now. There was nothing she hadn't gotten a good look at last night. Just like he had seen what a perfect sight she was. It really was a pity. They could have had fun on his father's yacht, really live it up. The alternative was inviting Sara. He knew she wouldn't say ‘No.’ Yes, she was a perfect plan B. Reaching for his underpants he decided to give plan A one more chance. “I can take you to the East Coast, if you want to,” he suggested.

She frowned, “What do you mean: take me to the East Coast? How?”

“With my plane,” he said as he pulled his boxer-briefs up.

“Your plane.”

“Technically, it's my father's plane.”

“Your father has a plane. And a yacht. And your lawyers will handle the annulment.” Her eyes snapped to his and realization set in. “Oh no! You're a trust fund baby.”

He hated that expression with a passion – because even he knew that it fit perfectly. Still, he'd be damned if she'd get a rise out of him. “We call ourselves 'where the party is,' baby.” He reached for his pants. “But, fine. Fly coach. I was just trying to be polite.” And with that, it was settled for him. Sara was about to get an offer for one hell of a life-changing trip. He would rock her world.

 


	2. Chapter 1

**October 10** **th** **2012**

Twitter was the first to tell her. It was the simplest tweet, a short tweet, only twenty-one characters long, but she needed to read it three times until she really understood its meaning.  
  
 _Oliver Queen is alive._  
  
She sat there in her office, staring at her phone, while she tried to collect her thoughts suddenly all over the place. Of course, it was good news. Him not being dead. Every news involving somebody being not dead had to be good news. So that was good. Good. Very good. It meant that she wasn't a widow anymore. Not being a widow at 25 was good, too. Very good. Maybe the divorce could happen now. He had disappeared before they had been able to do that. Ending a drunken mistake five years after it happened, that was good, too. So. Good.  
  
So many good things. Then why – the hell – did she feel so decidedly un-good? Because this meant reliving things that she had worked really hard to forget. Which was bad. Just awful. Even worse was the thought of facing him, a man she basically only knew through the stories of others, a man she had really mixed feelings about, a man whose mother had made the world believe that Felicity Smoak really was Felicity Queen and a mourning widow to save the reputation of her deceased son. A son who wasn't deceased and who would soon find out that he had returned from the dead, only to be faced with the drunken mistake he had made five years ago.  
  
That was a rather crappy welcome, Felicity thought.  
  
At least the end was near. At least there was the possibility to leave Felicity Queen behind and return to being Felicity Smoak. Shedding the Queen family name would be worth weathering the storm she knew lay ahead.  
  
It took her nearly one hour until she felt ready to inform Jerry, her perfect executive assistant, that she was heading out. Until she felt ready to leave the safety of her office and face the stares of the people on the outside. They all knew; she could sense it in the way they looked at her. The news had spread. It was a whisper in the office air: Oliver Queen is alive. Her husband had returned from the dead.  
  
Her heels clicked on the floor as she walked with her head held high, her purse in the crook of her elbow, her jacket draped over her arm. Nobody dared to address her – and she was glad nobody did, because she knew that if she said one word the cool facade would crumble instantly.  
  
The plan was to go home and open a bottle of red wine. It died with the ringing of her cell just as she got into her car. When she glanced at the display her dreading suspicion was proven. She answered and forced her voice to be steady, “Moira, hello. I heard the great news.”  
  
“Yes, dear,” Moira said in that calm and educated voice she had. “We are all delighted. We have a family dinner planned tonight. Please, come and join us.”  
  
Felicity felt heat spread over her face. “Oh, I think you should keep it in the family. I would–”  
  
“Felicity, you are family.”  
  
That sentence wasn't correct. The correct phrasing would be: everybody believes you to be family. But she didn't correct Moira, because there was no use. Moira Queen only said and heard what Moira Queen wanted to say and hear. That woman was the master in bending the truth to her will – and Felicity folded every time. So, why change a running system?  
  
“When do you want me to be there?”  
  
“At six. Oliver will be delighted to see you.” That was another highly doubtful, truth-bending sentence. But, once again, Felicity simply chose to accept it.

______________________________________

 

He didn't know what made this situation worse: the changes that made once-familiar things and people seem foreign to him or the changes that made him seem foreign to once-familiar people. His sister was the most radical example. She had been a twelve year old kid when he had left, always running after him, wanting to spend time with him and his friends, glorifying her big brother in a way that couldn't have been further from the truth. He saw glimpses of his Speedy in the seventeen-year-old girl welcoming him with a hug and teary eyes, could discern the traces of the kid in this teenage girl, but he really didn't recognize her at all. She was a stranger to him.  
  
Just like the man who never left his mother's side was a stranger to him. Oliver did not remember Walter Steele at all. He did not care to remember him, did not want to get to know the man replacing his father, replacing the man who had given Oliver's life a purpose and a mission.  
  
Ultimately, that was the only thing that mattered. It was the reason he had chosen to return. It was the only thing he could worry about. It was the only real thing in his life. The rest was pretense. It was the front to keep his true self, the person he had become in the last five years, hidden. He couldn't dwell on things being different, couldn't let his old self distract him when it was just supposed to be a distraction to others. He was a new man, a different man. He had forged a new identity for himself to fulfill his father's dying wish. His true self was all that mattered, even if he needed to keep it secret. That was all he needed his past life for: hiding the truth. As long as he hadn't righted his father's wrongs – as Robert Queen had asked his son before he had pulled the trigger and blown his brains out – Oliver's life would be on pause.  
  
His face unmoving and his posture stiff, Oliver stood in the dining room and let his calculating eyes sweep over the neatly placed table. He did a short mental count, before he placed his eyes on his mother, who was just entering the room followed by, of course, Walter Steele. “Are we expecting company?”  
  
“We are,” his mother answered. “Tommy called. He is very much looking forward to seeing you.” She hesitated. It was only the briefest pause, but Oliver noticed. He had learned to notice such things. “And I asked Felicity to join us.”  
  
“Felicity?” The name was familiar; it tugged at a memory and in the next moment the face of a brunette with glasses wearing a buttoned up blouse popped in his head. Oliver was trained enough to hide his surprise and keep his emotions closely guarded. “Felicity,” he slowly repeated, “the girl I drunkenly married in Vegas.”  
  
“Yes,” his mother confirmed.  
  
“Why did you invite her?”  
  
“Because you vanished before you signed the annulment papers. You were presumed dead. She was your widow, entitled to a part of your trust fund. The media had a field day with that and the leaked wedding photos. And things really spun out of control when she started showing four months later.”  
  
The last part was information to rattle even his control. “She...” He stopped and tried differently, “We have... Am I...” He didn't know how to ask that question, because that wasn't part of the plan he had made before he had returned here. And he honestly didn't know what answer he wanted to hear, which he preferred.  
  
“No, you're not.” His mother's voice was soft, and Oliver realized that he did really prefer that answer. A ‘no’ was the better answer, better for everybody involved. This realization wavered when his mother continued, “She lost the baby in the 27th week.”  
  
Oliver didn't know what to do with this information. He simply stored it in the back of his head, filed it away for later analysis, because dwelling on something that had happened five years ago, that was the past and that he couldn't do anything about, wouldn't do him any good. He chose to simply nod and signal the two watchful people opposite of him that he had understood. He instead addressed the other elephant in the room. “So, technically, I'm still married to her?”  
  
“Yes,” his mother confirmed. “After the test confirmed the child was yours, I decided to support her and grant her the protection of our family, our connections, and our name – after all you registered Queen as the family name on the marriage license.”  
  
That was the truth; he had done that. It had seemed funny back then, to make her Mrs. Queen. It had been a joke. Back then he hadn't cared that marriage shouldn't be a joke. Back then he had been careless about everything, had been carefree and uncaring. He had been such a dick.  
  
“Felicity is a very brilliant woman,” Walter said now in that dignified accent of his. “She graduated top of her class at MIT.”  
  
Slowly, Oliver nodded, wondering what that had to do with anything. The real question was, “So, she's part of this family now?”  
  
“No,” Moira corrected. “She's part of the family business.”  
  
Oliver looked at his mother in non-understanding. He still stood there, stiffly, by the dining table with quite a few steps separating him and his mother and her... whatever. Lover, probably. “What does that mean?”  
  
“After Felicity graduated we financed her start-up, a subsidiary of Queen Consolidated. It's a computer software business. A very successful one.” Walter sounded honestly proud as he said that.  
  
“I invited her here, because to the world she is your wife, but I think after being separated for five years, nobody will judge you for getting a divorce. We should get to that quickly, get our lawyers ready. Technically, you were married for 36 hours, before you vanished. I don't think she can make the whole five years count. She's entitled to a settlement, of course, but the amount shouldn't be too high. I thought we should test the waters with her over dinner tonight.”  
  
Oliver looked at his mother and again wondered who of them had changed so much that this sentence seemed so utterly wrong to him. He was still standing ramrod straight with his face unmoving. His voice even he said, “You feel like part of my trust fund plus the start-up is all the money she's entitled to?”  
  
“She never got money from the fund. Never wanted it.”  
  
Walter nodded at Moira's words and Oliver again sensed some kind of pride when Walter said, “She's also paying back the money we loaned her for the start-up.”  
  
“So, what makes you think that she'll try to make money out of the divorce?”  
  
“She'll lose the Queen name,” Moira said, “and that's a door-opener.”  
  
On cue the doorbell rang. Oliver took the opportunity to get away from the woman he loved, but who said things that made him wonder. “Maybe it's my wife,” he said and tried to keep his tone light. He wasn't sure he was doing a very good job. Light didn't come easily to him anymore; there were just too many things dragging him down. He walked into the hall and saw that a maid had already opened the front door.  
  
In the next moment he was faced with his best friend and his wide smile. “I told you yachts suck!”  
  
Oliver brought the corners of his mouth up and hoped the smile was believable, “Tommy Merlyn.” He found himself in a tight hug. Returning it, Oliver forced the memory of his last encounter with Tommy out of his mind, the fear that he had put into this young man, the way he had scared him off, out of Hong Kong so Oliver would not be forced to put a bullet into him.  
  
“I missed you, buddy,” his childhood friend said as he let go.  
  
Oliver simply nodded. The ringing of the door bell spared him from having to say anything. He went and opened it, only to be faced with a small blonde woman. She didn't look anything like he remembered her. Her brunette hair had been dyed; instead of a blouse she wore a purple dress that fit like a glove. The only things that were still the same were the ponytail and the glasses. “O-Oliver,” she stammered now as if she hadn't expected him to be here.  
  
“Felicity,” he answered.  
  
“I am glad you're not dead,” she said. As soon as those words left her mouth, she visibly flinched and hurried to add, “I mean, drowned.” She had tried to save her previous words and failed. Again, her face twisted, “I mean, it's good that you're back, alive, so we could meet again…. Just to talk. Or, rather, so you could listen to me babble. Which will end in three… two… one.”  
  
He stared at her and couldn't help but smile. She might look differently, but this right here was strangely familiar. He got his facial expression under control and stepped to the side, gesturing for her to enter. “I agree that we should talk.” Her heels clicked on the expensive marble as she walked past him and he added, “Later. Alone.”  
  
“Yes,” she tried a small smile and he could feel the nerves radiating off her. “I would prefer that.”

________________________________

 

Being in the Queen Mansion was always uncomfortable, but this dinner reached new highs of awkwardness. Forcing herself to not down the red wine in one huge gulp to calm her nerves, Felicity took just a tiny sip from her glass before she reached for her fork again to keep her mouth busy chewing and not saying anything.  
  
She quickly glanced at Oliver, who sat next to her at the head of the table. He had neither touched his food nor his drink. There was a rigidness about him, how he sat there, watching his mother carefully at the other end of this ridiculously long table. His eyes were calculating, Felicity thought, observing Walter in clear hostility. She remembered him being loose and easy with mischief in his eyes – the latter had very much excited her after the third Tequila in Las Vegas. He wasn't the same boy he had been back then. It was hardly surprising – she wasn't the same girl she had been back then either – but she noted the change, his hardening. He seemed to be on guard and she couldn't help but feel pity. Somehow it seemed incredibly sad to her that he felt the need to be guarded around his family. She could relate to that, of course: she always felt like she had to watch herself around the Queens, especially Moira. Maybe that was the reason she noted his heedfulness. After all, she shared it.  
  
“So,” Tommy spoke up now. “What did you miss?”  
  
Felicity placed her full attention back on her plate. She felt Oliver's eyes swipe over her and she was sure that his watchful gaze had noticed her slightly tightening her grip on her fork. Somehow she couldn’t help but feel like Oliver noticed everything, saw and analyzed everything. But maybe she was also giving him too much credit, simply because she knew that there was something to notice. Because, yes, things were tense between Tommy Merlyn and Felicity Queen. There were too many things standing between them for them to ever be casual with each other.  
  
But Tommy was the kind of person to try to defuse the ever-growing tension. He just slipped into the charming rich-boy routine and played the easy-going one – after all, it was Tommy Merlyn's most successful act.  
  
“Super bowl winners,” said Tommy, “Giants. Steelers. Saints. Packers. Giants again. A black president, that's new. Oh, and _Lost_. They were all dead, I think.”  
  
Trust Tommy Merlyn to bring up a show about people stranded on a deserted island. Felicity couldn’t help but turn her head and stare at him, because… _seriously_!  
  
Thea Queen, who sat opposite to Felicity, took that as the perfect opportunity to ask the one question they were all dancing around. “What was it like there? On your island?”  
  
All eyes settled on Oliver as silence fell around them, everybody was listening closely, wondering what the answer to this would be. Felicity couldn’t help but stare at him also, watching him how he casually sat there, unmoving, unblinking, unfazed by the tension around him. He took his time answering and when he finally did, he only gave them one word.  
  
“Cold.”  
  
If you asked Felicity, that wasn’t an answer. That basically meant everything and nothing. But Felicity had to admit that it achieved one thing perfectly: it shut all of them up. So maybe it was the perfect answer, that told them everything they needed to know, namely that he didn’t want to talk about it, which was fair enough in Felicity Queen’s book.  
  
“Felicity,” Walter said now, in an attempt to get a normal conversation going, “I heard the good news from NYSE.”  
  
Yes, the value of her company had gone up – even more up. Developing and programming a file management system might not seem like the sexiest thing to do, but the software she had originally developed for QC was a huge success. Or, as her financial manager, Damian James, had called it, “a fucking win bringing in the cash.” He was just so much better with that business lingo than she was.  
  
Felicity nodded and smiled at Walter. “Yes, Damian called me just before I arrived. I think he had already popped open the champagne by then.”  
  
Walter chuckled in that good-natured way of his that Felicity liked so much. “I can imagine,” he said.  
  
“Since we are on the topic of finances…” Moira spoke up now, and Felicity couldn’t help the sour feeling that instantly collected in her stomach. Sure enough, the other woman’s eyes settled on her.  
  
“I thought I could swing by Queen Consolidated tomorrow.” Oliver’s voice was even, neutral and natural, but the words he had spoken caused his mother to lose her train of thought. Stunned, she looked at her son as if he had just said the most unbelievable thing ever.  
  
There was also surprise audible in Walter’s voice as he said, “I didn’t realize you were interested in the company, Oliver.”  
  
“I didn’t realize you were interested in sleeping with my mother, Walter.”  
  
Wow. Felicity nearly choked on the sip of wine she had just taken. Talk about blunt honesty. And people said Felicity had no filter. But other than Felicity, who always turned incredibly flustered when things like that escaped her lips, Oliver seemed completely unfazed. Because unlike Felicity, who only let things like that escape her lips by accident, Oliver hadn’t slipped up, his sentence had been deliberate. Felicity was absolutely sure that nothing this stranger sitting next to her did was an accident.  
  
Moira and Walter shared a look that ended with Moira holding her hand out to the man next to her. “Oliver, I should have told you before. Walter and I are married.” Her eyes left her husband and settled on her son and Felicity had to admit that she had rarely seen such an expression in Moira Queen’s eyes. They were soft and a little pleading – which were both adjectives she wouldn't normally use to describe anything her mother-in-law did. “I am sorry, Oliver, you were gone for so many years that we gave up hope.”  
  
“Yes,” Oliver slowly nodded. “I understand. It’s fine.”  
  
“Oliver–” Moira started again.  
  
“I said it’s fine.” Oliver’s voice was strangely devoid of emotion.  
  
“So,” Tommy chimed in from his seat next to Felicity, “I say your glorious return to Starling calls for a celebration. You and I will hit the town hard tomorrow!”  
  
Moira tried a smile, “That’s a wonderful idea.”  
  
What exactly was so wonderful about that, Felicity couldn’t say. To her, Tommy’s suggestion sounded like a bad idea. A man, who had returned home after five years alone didn’t need a celebration or hard hitting, he needed some calm and some time to come to terms with certain things. Getting Oliver an appointment with a professional sounded like a wonderful idea, if you asked her. The tense guy next to her needed serious help.  
  
“I think I should get my own place.” With that statement Oliver Queen had not only managed to completely ignore the previously made point, but also to affront his mother. Felicity knew that she really shouldn’t enjoy it as much as she did. But – seriously – that was kind of awesome.  
  
The look on Moira Queen’s face made it clear that she didn’t agree, not at all. “Your room is still as you left it. We didn’t change a thing. I never had the heart to do so.”  
  
Oliver looked at his mother. “That’s part of the reason why I want to get my own place.”  
  
“Well, until you find one you will have to deal with living under my roof.” Wow, Moira was pouring out the passive-aggressiveness like the true professional she was, laying out the perfect guilt trap. Poor Oliver, as if he didn’t have enough problems already.…  
  
“You can always stay in my place.”  
  
Felicity felt all eyes snap to her. Her face started to heat instantly, because the last sentence was another example of her mouth forming words her brain had not approved. Why, the hell, had she done that, offered Oliver a place to stay? It was a stupid and senseless thing to say, because there was no fucking way that he would…  
  
“I’d like that. We have stuff to discuss anyway.”  
  
…agree to stay with her. She looked at him and saw that he was already getting up.  
  
“I will just get some things from my room.” He looked at his mother and asked, “May I be excused?” That was ridiculously well mannered for a guy who had just made a comment to another man about sexing up his mother, as if it were casual dinner-conversation.  
  
There was nothing left for Moira to do but nod. And the glance she was sending Felicity’s way while doing so perfectly signaled to the younger woman that she really shouldn’t finish her plate. She should get out of the room right now.  
  
She had just poked the devil, Felicity knew, and there would most definitely be hell to pay.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be quite honest: I really, really didn't expect such a positive reaction. I'm blown away and ecstatic and very, very giddy! Thank you so much to everybody who took the time to send kudos my way or who bookmarked this story. Thanks so much! It means a lot.
> 
> I just hope you'll continue to enjoy this story! God, I really, really hope that.
> 
> This is still dedicated to Albiona, who said, "Jules, you have to post this, people will like it." Turns out: She was right (until now ;-) )

**October 10** **th** **2012**

His quasi-wife should never play poker.  
  
She had too many tells to ever manage a successful bluff: there was biting her lip, glancing at him out of the corner of her eyes, the way she fumbled with the radio every time she stopped the car at a red light. All of this, combined with the way her face had slipped when he had actually taken up her offer to stay at her place, made it perfectly clear to Oliver that she was nervous. Uneasiness was lingering all around her; it filled up the compartment of the car and made him wish he could get her to ease up just a little bit.  
  
But mostly it assured him that he had made the right decision to stay with her until he found his own place.  
  
He couldn’t bear to stay at the mansion, under the watchful eyes of his mother. He needed some place he could come and go to as he wished, where nobody would wonder where he had been all night. And Felicity didn’t seem like somebody who would give him much trouble in this regard.  
  
Much the opposite: Felicity was a perfect cover.  
  
His mother should approve; as far as he had understood, she had come to the same realization five years ago and had used Felicity to make her son look better than he really was.  
  
Finally, Felicity steered her car off the street and into a basement garage. She waved a small hello at the man sitting in the security booth. He greeted her with a polite “Good evening, Mrs. Queen” that rang strange in Oliver’s ears. Then the man in a blue uniform pressed a button and opened the heavy rolling gate at the entrance. Slowly, Felicity drove through the basement garage, the neon lights switching on in front of her, until she parked her red Mini – a very peculiar choice, if you asked Oliver – in a spot close to the elevator. Turning off the engine, she sent him a small, nervous smile and said, “Home sweet home.”  
  
Really, she should never play poker, because she was visible cursing herself for saying that in the next moment. Ignoring her reaction, he just nodded, opened the passenger’s door and got out of the car.  
  
He felt her eyes on him as he reached for the green wooden box he had placed on the backseat. Maybe she was asking herself why a guy who had just returned from a deserted island had luggage. That would be a good question, actually. But even though he could practically see this question shine in her eyes, she kept herself from voicing it. He was grateful for that. It was another reason he believed he had made the right choice.  
  
She dug into her purse and finally pulled a keycard out of her wallet. The shiny elevator doors swept open as she placed it in front of a sensor. He gestured for her to enter first. Sending him another nervous smile, she walked past him and waited for him to join her, before she swiped the card through a reading panel and pressed the button reading “14”.  
  
Oliver had half-expected for her to press the penthouse-button, but he kept from telling her so. Instead he said, “This place seems well protected.” He was serious about that. Apart from the watchful guard, he had noticed ten open security cameras strategically placed throughout the garage – plus six that were well hidden.  
  
Lifting her right hand with the security card slightly, Felicity nodded. “Yes, it’s the reason I moved here,” she said and instantly continued talking quickly, “I preferred the cute little townhouse I lived in before, but the paparazzi were getting really crazy. It got too dangerous with them crowding the sidewalk. They scared away the children. And I mean literally. Poor Bobby McIntyre. I don’t know if he will ever be the same.... That was about the time the neighbors started the hate me. Talk about hostile living situations! Especially Miss Richardson. For an old lady she was a horrible bitch. She turned really anti-me after that one guy trampled all over her roses. She might have won an award for them, but I still think that her billing me ten thousand dollars was a bit excessive. Your mother paid for that, which was nice…. Reminds me that I should probably go and repay her. I don’t like being in anybody’s debt. I’m really sorry; I tend to talk when I’m nervous.”  
  
A high ping announced that they had arrived at their destination. It was a kind of fitting ending for her ramble, Oliver thought. He turned to look at her just as the elevator doors opened, “I have noticed.” Because how could he not? But he chose not to say anything else about that, because he didn’t know how he felt about the dim amusement her babble stirred inside him. It was an unwonted sensation – and an unwelcome one, because it felt like the memory of something he had long-forgotten and the unfamiliarity of it was distracting. Being distracted was the last thing he needed now. So he simply said, “After you.”  
  
A quick nod was her immediate reaction. Her black high heels clicked on the metallic floor of the elevator, but her steps were muffled as soon as she stepped onto the thick carpet that spread out in the hall. Oliver followed her down the hall toward a door without a name-tag, still carrying the box with his most prized possessions. She unlocked the door and he followed her inside.  
  
The apartment was much cozier than he had expected. Warm wooden floors welcomed him, white walls with colorful pictures. She let her purse drop to the floor next to a cabinet and draped her coat over it. Slipping her shoes off, she lost a couple of inches in height. “So, okay,” she said and finally looked at him, “you didn’t eat anything earlier. Are you hungry?”  
  
“No, thank you.”  
  
A frown darkened her face, but, again, she chose to simply accept his words. “But I’m hungry. You made me leave before I finished my plate.” Her eyes snapped to him. “Not that I’m a glutton or anything. I watch what I eat. It’s part of being a Queen, of course. I haven’t had a burger since that night we met in Las Vegas.” Now an actual blush crept onto her cheeks, “You probably didn’t have a burger either, huh? I am sorry that was really insensitive.”  
  
The dim amusement was back instantly, but he hid it by turning away from her and putting his green box on the ground. When he straightened back up again, she hadn’t moved, but looked at him with unsure eyes. There was so much tension inside her, so much nervousness leaking from her that he finally felt the need to try to diffuse it. “Felicity,” he said politely, “thank you for offering me a place to stay. It was kind of you to do that.”  
  
“I should probably come clean and admit that I never got around to furnishing the guest room,” she rushed the words out and deflated somewhat when they had left her mouth. “I’m sorry. I just kinda offered you to stay to annoy your mother.” The blush on her cheeks turned deeper. “I’m sorry. Again. Your mother always brings out my inner teenager.”  
  
Now an actual smile appeared on Oliver’s face, but it only played around his lips briefly, before it vanished again.  
  
Felicity’s posture crumbled. “I'm a horrible person.”  
  
“No,” he said in a very matter-of fact tone. “I have the feeling you really aren’t.”  
  
That was the sentence needed, that was the sentence to somewhat calm her nerves. Oliver sensed it instantly, how she relaxed a little. The previously closed expression on her face opened, her features softened and Oliver couldn’t help but curve the corners of his lips upward, too. Because it had been some time since somebody had looked at him like that. It sparked something inside him that he had nearly forgotten in the last five years. He tried to remember, when somebody had last looked at him like that – like a nice, normal guy. No situation came to mind.  
  
But he wasn’t a nice, normal guy. He needed to remember that. He needed to never forget that he wasn’t a good person.  
  
Right in this moment a very disturbing feeling appeared inside him: Maybe he had made a mistake taking up her offer.  
  
“I need a drink.” With that declaration, Felicity turned around and walked through a huge opening in the wall on the left.  
  
Oliver followed her into a huge room that combined a luxurious kitchen, a dining area and a huge couch. The wall opposite to the entrance was made a glass. The city sprawled out behind the windows. Slowly, he walked toward it as he watched the scenery. The sun had set and the lit dots of the windows of other buildings were speckled in the darkness above the glow of the nightlife in the streets: the opened bars and theaters, the moving cars and the walking people. This view was perfect, Oliver thought, because it showed him what this was all about. This was the city, his city, and he was here to save it, to make it a better place. And before he had accomplished that, there was no way that he could be a nice, normal guy.  
  
A soft noise behind him told Oliver that Felicity had uncorked a wine bottle. It was his cue to tear his eyes away from the magnificent view. He turned around just as she was filling a big-bellied glass with red wine. She quickly glanced at him, “Want one, too?”  
  
“No, thank you,” he politely declined as he walked toward where she stood behind the kitchen counter.  
  
He watched as she took a huge swig of red wine and instantly refilled the glass. “Sorry,” she said when she was done and stood there with her glass filled more than was decent. “It’s not every day that your Vegas-husband comes back from the dead.”  
  
“I understand. I had a rather stressful day, too. I came back from the dead.” He said it evenly; there wasn’t any aggression or accusation in his voice. It sounded like the most neutral thing for him to say, as if it was a simple observation.  
  
Apparently, to her it sounded like a joke and she chuckled slightly. “Yeah, that sounds stressful.” Her blue eyes settled on his as she turned serious. Her voice was soft and compassionate as she said, “It really must have been a lot to process. All those people.... Would you rather be alone? Have some time to yourself?”  
  
She was the first person to ask him that. Everybody had just assumed he wanted company, that he wanted business as usual. Her compassion was unexpected. It caught him by surprise, just like the warmth that spread inside him. He cleared his throat and realized that this was the first time that his cool had visibly wavered tonight. “To be honest. Yes, I’d like that.” He thought for a second. “Are there gyms that are opened 24 hours? I think I could use a workout.”  
  
Surprised, she looked at him, then smiled. “Yes, there is!” Holding on to the wine glass with her right, she motioned for him to come with her with her left. “This way.”  
  
He followed her down the hall to the last room on the left. She pushed the door open, switched the light on, and Oliver was faced with another beautiful view on the city – and a treadmill facing the skyline. He also saw a pretty advanced weight lifting machine: Leg Abduction, Lat Pull Down, Pec Deck Machine – it was all there. He noticed a yoga mat, a stepper and huge TV – those didn’t interest him at all. But the rest... he could put that to good use while enjoying this amazing view. He took two steps into the room.  
  
“Will this do?” The tone in Felicity’s voice made it clear that she was serious about the question. There was no triumphant double-meaning attached to it, no underlying bragging about her actually pretty well equipped work-out room. She was actually asking him if this was what he had it mind.  
  
“It will.” He glanced back at her.  
  
“Great.” She gestured behind herself. “There’s a shower right next door. I only have those girly shower gels, but feel free to use whatever you what. I’ll put towels and a toothbrush there for you, too.”  
  
He nodded. “Thank you.” And, really, he was thankful. “And the guest room is…”  
  
She frowned as she mentally completed his unspoken question. “I was serious. There’s nothing in there…. Okay, that’s not true. I keep shoes there, but there’s no bed.”  
  
“I don’t mind. I’m used to sleeping on the floor.”  
  
Oliver nearly flinched at he saw her reaction to this confession and he knew that he had said too much. She looked utterly taken aback, her hand with the wine glass sank, before she shook her head as if forcing a thought away.  
  
“Oliver,” she said in a gentle voice, “you might have been in a really _cold_ place for five years, but you aren’t anymore. Here, I won’t let you sleep on the floor.” He looked at her, and she straightened up. “We are both adults and I think that we can share a bed. You stay on your side and I’ll stay on my side and we both will be comfortable, warm, and get the rest we need.” She added a smile and signaled that this conversation was done with. She stressed the finality by gesturing toward the treadmill. “Knock yourself out.”  
  
And he did.

 

___________________________________

 

The rain was splattering against the windowpane. Lightning was flashing in the sky, illuminating the room brightly for an instant. The thunder followed with a loud bang, making Felicity wake with a start. Normally, she was a very heavy sleeper, but not tonight. She knew that the man laying on the left side of the bed, closer to the window, was the reason for this.  
  
She was very aware of his presence. Not in a sexual way, but in an “I’m sharing a bed with a stranger” way. Technically, she might be married to said stranger, but that was only a technicality. Because the man next to her was nothing like the boy she had shared a drunken night and an awkward morning-after with. She had decided that she needed to forget their encounter in Vegas, because it was irrelevant. It meant nothing.  
  
This here was a fresh start – and tomorrow she would talk to him about bringing it to an end.  
  
As Felicity now sank back and rested her head on the pillow, she decided they needed to have a really serious conversation tomorrow, or later, since it was way past midnight. This was the time, when the late night turned into the early morning. It was that time, when ~~~~the days blended into each other and turned indistinguishable.  
  
They hadn’t talked much last night. She had been awkward and tense, he had been so guarded and intense—talking hadn’t come naturally to either of them. Even though, Felicity had said a lot. It had been years since she had rambled that much. Felicity Smoak had done that a lot, actually, but Felicity Queen didn’t. Felicity Queen was a business woman, part of Starling City’s high society that conversed at dinner parties and charity galas. Felicity Queen had held guest lectures at Ivy League Colleges about coding in general and women in computer science in particular. Felicity Queen was a fucking well-spoken woman, when it mattered.  
  
Last night it had mattered. Still, she hadn’t been able to pull herself together. Felicity Queen never thought she’d feel this way, but: she hated this sudden reappearance of Felicity Smoak. Honestly, that girl was such a dork.  
  
Another flash lit up the room and was accompanied by drumming thunder. She really needed to talk to Oliver tomor– when they were both awake. They needed to straighten some things out, discuss divorce. She needed to assure him that she didn’t want his money, only her company. Even if many – who was she kidding here? Even if _most_ people didn’t believe it: she had worked hard for her company, she had earned it. It was hers and she’d keep it. She wouldn't let anybody take that from her.  
  
And they needed to talk about Jonas. She needed to tell him the truth, before somebody told him the lie that everybody believed to be true. She knew that it shouldn’t matter, but to her it did. She needed to tell him what had happened. He needed to hear it from her and she needed him to believe her and not–  
  
A sudden jerk from her left ripped her out of her thoughts. Oliver was moving in his sleep, unruly, as if he was fighting against something or somebody, a dim whine escaped him and it sounded so incredibly haunted that Felicity sat up. She looked at the man next to her, who was starting to twitch stronger in his sleep. He seemed to be having an awful nightmare. Not thinking any further, she brought her hand up and to his shoulder to rouse him gently.  
  
She had barely touched him when he moved. It went all too fast for her to register what was really happening. All she knew was that he moved, and she was thrown back, pushed down and into the mattress with him towering above her. His left hand closed around her neck, his right hand clenched into a fist and was ready to come down into her face. All she was able to do was stare up at him with eyes widened in shock, watching him loom above her while his fingers dug into her skin. The grip of his hand around her neck was tight, but as quickly as it had closed it loosened again. Felicity could practically see the recognition in his eyes and the next bolt illuminated a mixture of pain and shock on his features. As the thunder rumbled, he scurried away from her, off the bed and further back. He fled and brought as much space between them as possible.  
  
Slowly, as if in a trance, Felicity sat up on the bed. Her eyes landed on Oliver, who was cowering next to a drawer with his back against the wall. He was hiding his face from her, but the way his shoulders rose and fell showed her that he was breathing heavily.  
  
She, on the other hand, felt the need to swallow. Her mouth was dry. Her heart was drumming in her chest and part of her believed that she could hear the fast pumping. Shock was roaming through her, but as she watched him, the immense panic that had so suddenly claimed her vanished and was replaced by a very strange form of pity.  
  
What had his time on that island done to him?  
  
His actions had shown her perfectly that he could kill her with his bare hands, but she refused to let herself be scared by that – because this poor man had been in a place where killing somebody with bare hands was necessary.  
  
Felicity had just decided that Vegas-Oliver didn’t matter anymore, but she was absolutely sure that Vegas-Oliver hadn’t been able to do that.  
  
She leaned forward, her eyes still on the cowering man, who now timidly lifted his head. “I’m sorry,” his voice was barely a whisper. “I didn't mean to…. I'm so sorry.” There was so much pain in his voice. There also was something else audible. It sounded like a mixture of embarrassment and anger; she couldn’t say for sure. But she knew without a doubt that her heart was breaking for this man who – if she had her wits about her – should really scare her to death.  
  
“It’s okay,” she said, and a small part couldn’t believe that the much bigger part of her was not only saying it, but also meaning it. “Come back to bed.”  
  
Another striking bolt revealed his honest surprise to her searching eyes.  
  
“You don’t want me in your bed.”  
  
“I don’t want you on my floor.” She tried a smile. “I startled you, triggered reflexes. You caught yourself before anything happened,” she reasoned. “Nothing happened. Everything’s okay.” He stared at her and she honestly had no idea what he was thinking. She decided not to care. Instead, she patted the mattress next to her. “Now, are you coming back to bed or what?”  
  
He hesitated for another long moment before he gave up his hiding position and pushed himself off the floor just as another flash of light lit him, standing there in only his boxer briefs. Felicity couldn’t help but gasp.  
  
His chest. It was covered in scars—mean looking things that symbolized pain and suffering. She hadn’t seen the scars before. She’d avoided looking at his naked chest, not wanting to be caught checking him out, because – honestly – she knew it was _so_ worth a good look. But now that she had seen what was really there, she couldn’t look away.  
  
Her reaction had been spontaneous, but wrong. When she saw the look on Oliver’s face, she realized that her shock had hurt him. As if he hadn’t been hurt enough – as evidenced by his scarred skin.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to–”  
  
“It’s okay,” he said, using her own dismissive words against her.  
  
He didn’t want to talk about it, that much was obvious, and she chose to respect his wishes. She nodded slowly and said, “It’s three a.m. We should try to get some more rest.”  
  
They could at least do that: try.

 


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am simply blown away by all the positive feedback you're sending my way. It's amazing. You're amazing. Thank you so very much. 
> 
> I know we're just slowly easing into the story and there are still many questions. I hope this chapter will answer some of the most pressing ones you had after the previous chapter. Enjoy!
> 
> PS. I had some editing problems when I posted this. Somehow random spaces appeared. I hope I found them all. If not: I apologize.

**October 11** **th** **, 2012  
  
** Right about the time she had been ready to give up the pretense and get up, Felicity’d fallen asleep. The last time she had looked at the clock on her nightstand, its red numbers had shown her that I was 5:34. She remembered deciding to get up and get some morning exercise. Starting the day with a jog while watching the sun rise over the skyline had seemed like a brilliant idea.  
  
Instead, she had added four more hours of sleep in a very awkward position, so she started the day with a heartfelt curse—she was running late for an important meeting and her back hurt.

  
Twenty minutes later – after she had set a new personal record for getting ready – she entered her main room. She liked to call it that, because kitchen/dining/living room was too complicated. Main room summed that up nicely; it sounded sophisticated somehow. And she had come to like sophisticated.  
  
“Good morning,” Oliver greeted her from where he stood next to her dining room table. He was dressed in blue jeans and a v-neck sweater and holding a coffee cup. Her first thought – totally involuntary and also very unwanted – was that she could get used to this kind of greeting every morning. A good looking guy with coffee – there could be worse things to wake up to. Of course, there was the little fact that he had tried to strangle her last night....  
  
She forced herself to ignore all of that and to return his greeting, “Good morning.” She glanced around the room. “Have you seen my phone? I'm running really late. My first meeting was scheduled thirty minutes ago. And if that isn't late, I don't know what is. I'm sure Jerry's going crazy.”  
  
“Your phone’s next to your keys on the cabinet in the hall.”  
  
“Great, thanks.” She rushed back out of the room and when she picked her cell phone up, she really was greeted by fifteen missed calls by her executive assistant. She cursed under her breath while reaching for her keys. She was about to head out of the door when she stopped. She couldn't just leave and rush away from Oliver. That would seriously send the wrong message to him. Her steps quick and forceful, she headed back into the main room. Oliver was standing by the window, looking out with a coffee cup in hand.  
  
“I have to rush to the office,” she said, “but we should talk tonight.”  
  
Turning around, he nodded, “Yes, we shou—”  
  
He was cut off by Felicity’s ringtone. Glancing down, she saw an unknown number on the display. With a frown on her face, she hesitated before she finally took the call, “Yes?”  
  
First, she was answered by silence, then the caller caught himself. “Felicity, hello. It's Tommy.”  
  
That was the first time he had called her, ever. Actually, he shouldn't even have her number, but she guessed that one call to Moira was enough to get it.  
  
“Tommy,” she said, surprise audible in her voice. And she was surprised – not only because he called her, but also because he was up at ten a.m.  
  
Her greeting caught Oliver's attention and he watched her carefully while she listened to Tommy say, “Is Oliver still with you? I need to talk to him.”  
  
Not reacting to this vocally, she walked toward Oliver and held her phone out. “It's for you.”  
  
He was about to take it when he visibly stiffened. She couldn't really place his reaction, the clear tensing of his muscles and the darkening of his face, until he whispered, “Your neck.”  
  
She just pushed the phone into his hand and rushed to the nearest mirror, hanging in the hall. She saw what she had missed before, because she had had hurried so much. She saw the bruises on both sides of her neck.  
  
She startled. These were a reminder that last night hadn’t only been a bad dream. The marks on her skin somehow made it more real, more threatening than it had been before. They were an angry blue, and she knew that she needed to hide them. She had to change.  
  
When she reemerged from her walk-in closet ten minutes later, she felt like she had accomplished a nearly impossible task. Because going through her clothes had showed her that Felicity Queen really liked to show off her neck. She never wore scarves. Thank God, she had bought that one turtle neck dress last year on a shopping spree. It had been an impulse buy that she had never gotten around to wearing, because it was so tight around the neck that it turned uncomfortable. But today it was perfect.  
  
Now she really had to hurry. She rushed back into the main room, where Oliver greeted her with her cellphone in his outstretched hand. His eyes swept over her new outfit. “Felicity, I want to apologize again for last night.”  
  
“Again, you don't have to apologize. It's forgotten.”  
  
“I'll start looking for my own place today. Tommy'll take me.”  
  
Felicity was about to tell him that he was free to stay as long as he wanted when the sound of a key being turned in the lock startled her. She turned around to look toward the hall where Rosa, who was the only reason why her apartment was so clean, appeared.  
  
The woman stopped dead on her tracks. “Mrs. Queen.” Felicity couldn't hold the honest surprise against her. On a normal day, Rosa had the apartment all to herself, while Felicity was busy at work. “Mr. Queen.” Oh, and of course, normally, there was no back from the dead husband either.  
  
Felicity tried a small smile. “Hello, Rosa. We'll be out of your hair soon.” She turned back to Oliver just as the phone in her hand rang again. Jerry. She sighed. “I really have to go,” she said, but felt like stressing again, “We need to talk tonight.”  
  
“We will,” he promised.  
  
And that was good, because she had quite a few things to say to him.

_________________________________

 

Apparently, Oliver Queen smelled too vanilla for Tommy Merlyn’s taste.  
  
But this morning in the shower – after another round of heavy weight lifting – he had once against been faced with Felicity’s collection of, as she called them, “girly” shower gels, providing him with a scented choice between vanilla-almond, coconut-cacao, and spirited apple. Vanilla had just seemed like the smallest of all three evils—especially since the latter left him at a complete loss.  
  
“Wow, good to get some fresh air. You made my car smell like the dorm of Delta Pi.” A big grin on his face, Tommy walked around the car to where Oliver stood on the sidewalk. “Remember those girls? Best thing about Brown.”  
  
“I only stayed there one semester,” Oliver answered without really acknowledging the other man. His eyes were placed on the big industrial building towering above him. Abandoned, it stood there like a monument of the past he remembered, but that had changed into something he didn't recognize. It was one of many, many unrecognizable things he had been faced with since his return—which had only been yesterday.

  
Oliver remembered the steel factory buzzing with life: people coming and going from work; the gates, which were now closed and barred up with chains and warning signs, wide open.  
  
“But it was a memorable semester,” Tommy said and added a playful, “I think.”  
  
Not reacting to his best friend's statement – because it proved that they weren't on the same page right now –, Oliver tore his eye away from the building rotting away, “What happened here?” Adding a broad gesture, he indicated that he wasn't only talking about the factory with the huge Queen Consolidate logo spreading out over it. He was talking about everything around him: the run-down buildings, the closed stores, the homeless people on a sidewalk filled with trash.  
  
“The city’s going to shit.” Tommy's answer was short and accurate. It didn't explain much, but it was the truth. “Your father closed the factory just in time to make some profit out of it.”  
  
The last part angered Oliver on multiple levels. Oliver was about to change the subject altogether, to avoid saying something he might come to regret later, when he heard a very unexpected voice behind them. “If that isn't Oliver Queen. Starling City's very own Lazarus.”  
  
Oliver noticed that Tommy flinched and stiffened next to him, but Oliver refused to do the same. Even though his heartbeat was quickening, he kept a mask of calm in place. Slowly he turned toward the woman standing a few steps away from him.  
  
“Hello, Laurel.”  
  
She wore a grey suit, clutching files and pressing them against her chest, while she held on to a briefcase. She didn't look happy to see him. He couldn't blame her. He didn't like himself much for what he had done to her.  
  
“How often did I tell you not to walk through the Glades alone, Laurel.” Tommy's sentence was a statement disguised as a question and there was a certain edge in his friend’s voice that Oliver noticed instantly.  
  
The brunette woman glanced past Oliver. “And how often did I tell you that I have to go see my clients?”  
  
A silent communication was happening over his shoulder, Oliver realized and added this insight to Tommy's statement. It lead him to a very clear assumption, but he knew that bringing it up would change the direction of the conversation and other than last night – when he had distracted his mother from talking divorce over the dinner table – he wasn't willing to defuse people by making them uncomfortable.  
  
“You went to law school,” he said instead, directing Laurel's attention back on him. “You said you would.”  
  
“Yeah,” the petite woman stated, her voice filled with sarcasm, “everybody's proud.”  
  
“I know you’re angry with me,” Oliver said then, his voice and face softening the barest bit. “You have every right to be.”  
  
“Damn right, I have!”  
  
“I know it's too late to say this, but I apologize. Everything that happened was my fault. Please, don't blame Sara for—”  
  
“For what? For falling under your spell? How could I blame her for the same things that I did?”  
  
“I never meant to—”  
  
“To WHAT? To marry a girl and get her pregnant while I was looking at apartments for us to move into? Or to screw my sister? To take her on a cruise and get her killed?"  
  
The image of Sara getting sucked into the ocean once, and once again, popped up in Oliver's mind, followed by the vision of her kneeling on the forest floor with unbearable terror in her eyes and a gun pointed at her head. There were so many more horrible things to remember that had ultimately started with him taking her on that cruise.  
  
He knew right then that Laurel could never hate him as much as he hated himself, for everything that had happened to Sara in the two years until she had died, really this time.  
  
Because things had gotten so much worse than simply dying. Dying was easy, fighting to stay alive and living with what you had to do to achieve that—that was the hard part.  
  
But Laurel wouldn't understand. She didn't have to understand. She never had to know.  
  
“She was my SISTER,” Laurel said now, filled with poorly suppressed anger. “You took advantage of her. You played her and ultimately it's your fault that she's dead. She was just a love-struck teenager! What did you promise her to go with you? Did she know about your wife? The whore that managed to live off your family's name? Bet she never expected you to come back, the soulless slut.”  
  
Okay, the anger was not suppressed anymore. It was perfectly clear that she had found an outlet for it. Oliver just looked at her as she continued. “You used both me and my sister. And you deserve to be tied to a woman that liked to take your money, but wouldn't have your child.” Her eyes were shooting daggers at him. There was so much rage inside Laurel. Seeing it rattled him. She had never been a hateful person. He had made her that way.  
  
“We buried an empty coffin, because Sara's body's at the bottom of the ocean where you left her,” she spat now. “It should have been you.”  
  
He couldn't argue with her there.  
  
Laurel still wasn't done yet, “You shouldn't be here. I really hoped that you'd rot in hell longer than five years.” With that she pushed past him and hurried down the street. Oliver closed his eyes shortly, needing a moment to collect himself. For once, Tommy granted him that moment, let him gather his thoughts and come to terms with the things Laurel had thrown at him.  
  
All of that distracted him.  
  
It was the only explanation for what happened next: a needle pierced the skin of Oliver’s neck and he felt his knees give in. Tommy was laying on the sidewalk in the middle of the crowded street, while Oliver felt himself being dragged back into a van. It was the last thing he saw before he lost consciousness.

 

_______________________________

 

Being tied to a chair shouldn't be the first time he felt at ease since returning home.  
  
Still, it was.  
  
Because he knew how to handle this. He knew how to snap the ties and how to use the chair to crush a man's adam's apple. He knew how to fight, to kill, and how to not let a man escape. He knew how to break a man's spine. He had never gotten the hang of doing it in the proverbial sense, but he could do it literally.  
  
After everything that had happened since yesterday, it felt good to finally be in control again, to take charge. It had felt fucking good to hit this guy, who was trying to intimidate him with cheesy masks looking like a red skull.  
  
That made him a horrible person, he knew that. And didn't particular care. Those guys had brought his wrath onto themselves.  
  
Oliver had been in many fights in the past five years, in many battles even. But this was the first time that killing three men had ended with him being faced with the police. Laurel, who had seen the abduction, had called them. Oliver had told Detective Quentin Lance – Laurel's father, who was equally angry but more passive-aggressive than his daughter – the story he had made up before: the tale of the man in the hood, who had saved him from his kidnappers.  
  
Quentin Lance hadn't believed him. Oliver couldn't blame him. Yet, the detective would have to face the facts soon enough.  
  
“Ollie.” His sister's voice stopped Oliver from opening the front door of Queen Mansion. Somehow it had seemed natural for Tommy to bring Oliver here so that he could make his statement under the watchful eyes of his mother and her new husband.  
  
Bringing a fake smile to his face, he turned to Thea, “Hey, Speedy. I'm sorry, I was about to head out. I want to contact a realtor, start on finding my own place.”  
  
“Why?” His little sister stopped opposite to him. “As far as I read you and Felicity continued where you left off....”  
  
Oliver stared at her in confusion. “What?”  
  
“It's all over SCGN.”  
  
“SCGN?”  
  
“Starling City Gossip Network. Wow, you've really been gone too long. It's the most important gossip page online. And this morning it posted a picture of a very rumbled bed.”  
  
“And that’s relevant, because…”  
  
“It was Felicity’s bed… and apparently yours.”  
  
“Oh, really?" Oliver looked at his sister, who was far too amused by this. “A picture of a bed. That’s hardly breaking news.”  
  
“It is, if it’s the bed of Mr. and Mrs. Queen. And everybody’s sure it is, because there was something that looked suspiciously like the dress Felicity wore yesterday in a heap on the floor, plus something that looked like your brown jacket. ”She gestured to his chest—which was only covered by a v-neck sweater. “The one you are not wearing right now. ” She smirked. “Want me to go on? ”  
  
“There’s more?”  
  
“Well, there’s the fact that you were photographed leaving her place this morning. Plus the statement by Felicity's housekeeper. She apparently took the picture and informed everybody that you and your wife were having a late breakfast this morning.”  
  
This wasn’t funny, this was horrible. This was the kind of battle he really wasn't used to fighting anymore. He had been, five years ago, but that seemed like an eternity ago.  
  
The real reason behind the bed ending up so rumpled only made it worse. What people believed to be signs of wild sex was really proof that he was a danger to other people. It was a reminder that he wasn’t as in control as he fooled himself into believing. Felicity had done nothing but touch his shoulder, and still she had ended up with mean-looking bruises on her neck. Last night, when he had lain awake, fearing to fall asleep and once again be faced with those horrible nightmares, he had decided that he needed to distance himself from her. To keep her save and to keep his secret. She had seen too much of what he was capable of – in the worst possible way.  
  
Seeing the look that crossed her brother’s face, Thea’s smile crumbled. “I know it must be weird to be faced with that again. I’m sorry.”  
  
“I honestly don’t understand why people care about that, ”Oliver said and realized in the same moment how strangely naïve he sounded.  
  
Thea shrugged. “It's a story about a Queen—and we're always the city's best gossip.”  
  
He frowned. “You say that like it's a good thing.”  
  
“You left a pretty huge gap in Starling City's party scene. Took a Queen to live up to your reputation.”  
  
“Thea,” his voice was soft as he said her name. “I never set an example you should follow.”  
  
For a second she looked at him with her expressive brown eyes in a way that made him feel like he was warped in time. In that moment he recognized the sister he remembered, the little girl that had crushed on Zac Efron. He knew she had grown up, that things had changed, but this short second made him feel all that he had lost. And it was a lot.  
  
The moment vanished as soon as it came as Thea changed the subject. “So, you're staying with Felicity?”  
  
“Not for long.”  
  
“Why don't you stay here?”  
  
Oliver sighed. “Thea, you know I love all of you. I missed you. Every day. But I need some space. I’ve been alone for five years….”  
  
“So, it's about sex?”  
  
“What? ” Why was he even having this discussion with his baby sister? "No!”  
  
She looked at him with angry eyes, before she reached for his hand. “Come,” she ordered and dragged him along, through the sitting room and out into the park that spread out behind the mansion. She didn’t say a word, but simply walked ahead, over perfectly kept grass. Silently, he followed her, until she suddenly stopped and motioned ahead. “There.”  
  
He took another step forward, but then he froze. It was the last thing he had expected, here in the backyard, so to speak. He felt his heartbeat quicken and didn’t really know how to feel about the fact that he was looking at his own grave, at a tombstone with his name on it.  
  
It was right next to his father’s grave, just as empty as his own. Oliver knew. Because he had buried his father himself, had piled rock after rock on top of his body to hide him from hungry birds. It was one of his regrets: that he didn’t remember the way his father had smiled at him when he had scored a touchdown. When he thought of his father, the first thing that appeared in his mind wasn’t a good thing, a fond memory. It was the thundering of the gunshot that had blown his father’s brain out. He remembered the torn open head he had spent days with on the raft until he finally reached the island, where birds had picked at his eyes and his skin. He hated that his father had been reduced to that to him.  
  
But not to Thea. Those were neither Robert nor Oliver Queen’s graves, but it was evidently an important spot for his sister, who now bent down to pick up some fallen leaves from his tombstone.  
  
“I come here pretty often. I always knew you weren’t really here. The coffins were empty, when we buried them. Mom called it a symbolic act. I guess coming here was one, too. But it calmed me. It could feel connected to you and tell you stuff that was going on in my life. I prayed that you’d come back to us.” She straightened up again and looked at him. “You did, but you’re still not here. You didn’t even stay for dinner yesterday. You’re avoiding us, avoiding me, and it hurts.”

His eyes snapped to her. He had promised not to let himself be carried away by unnecessary emotions, but he couldn’t keep his heart from aching for her. Those emotions suddenly seemed necessary, because he knew she had a point. He should make time for his sister, be a brother to her, be the brother she needed so that their father's sacrifice wasn’t in vain. “Thea—”, he started, his voice soft, but she shook her head and cut him off.  
  
“I know you went through a lot. I know that it was hell where you were and that you were alone for a long time, that you're not used to company anymore. That’s okay. But you aren’t alone anymore. You need to let someone in. I know, I'm only your little sister, but I'm here, if you want me to listen. But if you’d rather let Felicity in that’s fine with me also, because she has been to hell, too.”  
  
And with that she gestured to the third grave Oliver had thoroughly ignored until now; the tiny tombstone next to his. If he didn’t know what to feel about his own grave, this one awoke even more ambiguous feelings inside him. He let his eyes travel over the engraving: “Jonas Henry Queen. 2008.” Oliver had to swallow, heavily. His brain was still empty.  
  
Suddenly seeming uncomfortable, Thea shifted next to him. “You knew about—”  
  
This time he cut her off. He couldn't let her finish and potentially use the s-word that somehow scared him to death. His voice more collected than he felt, he said, “The pregnancy, yes. I knew about the pregnancy. But that's it. Felicity and I didn’t really have a chance to talk.” Now that he had looked at it, he couldn’t bring himself to look away. He stared at the tiny grave and the beating of his heart grew even stronger.“ Mom said she lost the baby…. I didn’t know….” He trailed of, because his voice was losing its cool.  
  
“I’m sorry.” Thea’s small voice ended the spell Oliver was under. He could move again and look at his sister. “It should be Felicity showing you this. I’m sorry. I didn’t think this through.”  
  
No, she probably hadn't, and he didn't know what to think either. He remembered that his mother had told him when Felicity had lost the baby: the 27th  week. Back then it hadn't meant anything to him. Now it dawned on him that it meant that she had been pretty far along. He couldn't ask his little sister about this, somehow it felt wrong. So he just gestured toward the engraving and said, “Jonas, huh?” His voice broke and he stopped right there.  
  
“Mom wanted to name him Robert, like dad, or Richard, like grandpa, but Felicity put her foot down. She said she wouldn’t give birth to a Dick.”  
  
A snort escaped Oliver and it caused a smile to appear on Thea’s face.  
  
“Yeah, she’s awesome,” Thea said.  
  
“Are you two close?”  
  
“We were during the pregnancy, but after…. It was mom’s fault… and mine. Mom didn’t want me near Felicity, because of the paparazzi that were stalking her and stuff, but I did sneak away and visited her at MIT.” His eyes full of questions, Oliver looked at his sister and he sensed that she was embarrassed by her next words. “It was awful, walking across campus with her. Everybody was staring at her, whispering behind her back. She acted unfazed, though. Walked with her head high. But it scared me. I kinda didn’t call her after….”  
  
“You were only a kid, Thea. Thirteen. It's perfectly fine that it freaked you out.”  
  
“Felicity said the same.”  
  
“Then just believe us.”  
  
Now it was Thea pulling herself together. “I just wanted to say that people say a lot of horrible things about Felicity, but they’re not true. I know, because she comes here every year on the day he died and sits at his grave for hours. At your grave. Nobody but her and me ever did that. Mom never came back out here after the funeral.” Now her voice was getting misty and she cleared her throat. “I think all this makes Felicity a good person to let in.” She smiled. “Or me, of course."  
  
He looked at her and, following an urge that was rising from deep inside him, from a place he had believed to have tightly locked, he pulled his sister into a hug.  
  
“I’ll consider it,” he said.  
  
“That’s all I ask.”

_______________________________

 

There never was a perfect morning for the coffeemaker to break, of course, but this must be the worst day for that to happen, _ever_. Felicity had never wanted to be the kind of person who made somebody else fetch her coffee, but she had turned into that kind of boss today.  
  
The fact that Jerry, her trusted executive assistant, had told her he'd happily get her one from the café down the street, because she totally looked like she needed it, didn't exactly make things better. Much the opposite.  
  
She had instead sent him to buy a new coffeemaker.  
  
Thank God, she had the perfect excuse for being nothing like her normal self today. Even the boss of Star Labs, Dr. Harrison Wells, had been understanding, despite having to wait for more than an hour to discuss the potential contribution of Firestorm Inc. to the particle accelerator he was in the last stages of building. It was a very interesting project, but Felicity needed to seriously discuss it with Yongtak Chan, her lead programmer, before agreeing to actually be a part of it. Yongtak was a master-coder and she really valued his input. After all, he had been the first to join Firestorm Inc, choosing Starling City over San Francisco, choosing her over Steve Jobs—which was kind of awesome. Yongtak had said that part of the reason was that she had boobs and a sense of style. Only a gay guy could get away with saying something like that.  
  
Thinking back to it now, Felicity couldn't believe she had actually named her company that: Firestorm, Inc. It was a cheesy name, but cheesy and ballsy worked perfectly in the male dominated computer/hacker/coding world. Plus, the mental image of a raging fire burning everything down, leaving the possibility to start anew, had also appealed to her very much back then.  
  
She had just rested her head back against the high back of her office chair and closed her eyes when a soft knock came from her door. It was another proof that today wasn't a normal day, because normally her door was always open. “Yes,” she sighed and answered at the same time. Opening her eyes, she was faced with the only person she really wanted to see in this moment: her best friend.  
  
“Tina!” She waved her in. “Thank God, it’s you!”  
  
Kristina Miles smirked. “You should really be happy to see me.” She lifted her left hand. “I bring gifts with caffeine.”  
  
“You’re a lifesaver! ”  
  
After carefully closing the door again, Kristina headed to the sitting area in the left corner of the office. Three seats were placed there – a green, a purple, and a blue – around a table. Felicity joined her friend and took the offered paper coffee cup. “A slim pumpkin spiced latte fitting this festive season,” the brunette said just as Felicity was about to sit down. Seeing the look that crossed her best friend’s face, Kristina could only stay serious for a second. She lifted her hands, “There’s no need for your patented anti-flavored-coffee-rant.” She grinned and flopped down on the green chair, “It's a plain latte. I was just messing with you.”  
  
Felicity sat down opposite to her friend and sighed. “Today's not the right day to mess with me.”  
  
“I heard. But the bed looked like it was a wild night.”  
  
Stupidly, Felicity blinked at the other woman. Subconsciously, her hand flew to her neck only to find that the turtle neck was still there. Not that she had believed it to have disappeared, but the mention of last night triggered that reflex, before Felicity could reason that Kristina couldn’t know about that. She frowned and asked, “What are you talking about?”  
  
"You didn't see? The picture of your dirty sheets are all over SCGN. Rosa spilled your beans!”  
  
“What!" Jumping up from her seat, Felicity raced to her desk, grabbed her phone and opened Twitter. She wasn't officially following SCGN – of course not, she'd never give them _that_ satisfaction – but it was the easiest way to get to all the dirt they were throwing around about her.  
  
Swallowing the sip of her own latte, Kristina grinned. “All I can say to that is: congratulations. Seems like you had a great reunion with your hubby – who, for the record, turned hotter while being on that island. Can you ask him where it is? I think I might schedule a visit.”  
  
Felicity’s eyes scanned the display of her phone and the article posted by the gossip network she despised with a fiery hatred she had never believed herself capable of. Finally, she had seen enough. She sighed and glanced at her best friend, “It wasn’t like that. He had a nightmare, that’s all.”  
  
“A nightmare?”  
  
Hearing the curiosity in her best friend's voice, Felicity hurried to say, “Nobody can know!” Kristina's brown eyes that were always so gentle turned hard and Felicity hurried to add, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” Returning to her comfortable purple seat, Felicity let her phone drop to the table in front of her. She sat down and looked at her best friend, wanting Kristina to know how serious she was about her next works, “You know I trust you more than anybody.”  
  
Instantly, Kristina’s eyes softened again, but her voice didn't. “I know you've been betrayed too often, hon, but if you ever hint that I might do that, too, I will go and kick your ass!” The small smile appearing on her face showed her teasing. “On a happier note: I also brought muffins. Today is the day to break your diet.” She raised a paper bag and reached into it. “Here, blueberry. Vitamins for you.”  
  
With a small smile on her face, Felicity took the offered treat. Her best friend knew her so well. Sweets were always connected with a guilty conscience for Felicity. That was the main reason for her impressive gym. The first year in Starling had been a horrible spiral of stress eating and workouts. Felicity had managed to get that under control and she rarely indulged herself anymore. But when she did, she chose the blueberry rather than the chocolate muffin – it was the healthier sweet, after all. She knew she was fooling herself, but she did that pretty successfully.  
  
Felicity really envied her best friend, who never was as self-conscious about how she looked. She honestly had no reason to be. She was beautiful with her flawless olive skin, the thick long brown hair, and the hazel doe eyes. She had a woman’s figure with hips and ass and boobs. Kristina always called herself “fat” in that way that slightly chubby people exaggerated. It was fishing for compliments. Kristina knew that the weight looked very good on her. If Tina wasn’t her best friend, Felicity would so hate her for that.  
  
Enjoying the moment, Felicity took a huge bite of her muffin. She chewed with her eyes closed for an instant, realizing that Kristina had been right: today was the perfect day to break her diet.  
  
“That good?” Kristina chuckled slightly.  
  
Felicity opened her eyes again. “Better!”  
  
“So,” the brunette said while she raised her own triple chocolate muffin, “do you want to tell me why your supposed dead husband spent the night with you?”  
  
“It was Moira's fault.”  
  
“Really?” Tina's face hardened instantly. “What did she do now?”  
  
“No, it wasn't like that. I just... I knew it would piss her off, if Oliver stayed at my place and not in the mansion....” Now Kristina laughed that loud and dirty laugh of hers. Felicity shook her head slightly, amused. “I turn into a teenager when I'm around her.”  
  
“Yes,” her friend agreed. “You do. And it's really funny.” Finally, she took a huge bite of her muffin.  
  
“We were on the way back to my place before I remembered the state of my guest room.”  
  
Kristina shrugged and said, speaking around the muffin crumbs. “So, he slept on the couch.”  
  
Felicity let her own muffin sink. “I never even thought of the couch.”  
  
Kristina swallowed. “Must have been weird to be faced with him after all that happened,” she said with compassion in her voice. “I mean, you barely know the guy.”  
  
“I was so awkward,” Felicity admitted. “I fell back into old habits. But Oliver...” she searched for a way to describe him before she settled on, “He's intense in a very... guarded way. It's hard to explain. He doesn't say much, but he's always observing. I can't really blame him. I mean, he was on an island for five years, alone, and suddenly he's supposed to make polite casual conversation over dinner. Talk about culture shock.”  
  
“I always tell you: as soon as you become part of the one percent, you trade your common sense for fake manners—present company excluded, of course. With Moira it's only about the perfect appearance. You of all people should know that.”  
  
“Yes,” Felicity agreed. “I do know that.”  
  
Kristina looked at her. “You care about the guy, huh?”  
  
Felicity set the muffin on the table and sank back in her seat. “I feel sorry for him, somehow. I think he's been through some tough shit and he needs help. Even though a part of me knows that I should stay away from him.”  
  
“Stay away from him, why?”  
  
For a few heartbeats Felicity contemplated telling Kristina about Oliver's reaction to her touch on his shoulder. She never kept anything from her best friend; she was the one person she never had to pretend with, who knew everything about her. Strangely, Felicity still felt like she couldn't tell Tina about Oliver's hand around her neck, and that witnessing him reacting to his own actions, seeing him cowering against her drawer, hearing him apologize with a broken voice, had rattled her more than anything else. He had looked so haunted and it had stirred the need inside Felicity to fix him. Telling Kristina what had happened... somehow it felt like blabbing a private secret, like baring Oliver's inner demons to somebody else he didn't know. It felt like betraying him.  
  
Felicity also feared that her best friend would hit her over the head for not being more freaked out by it.  
  
Ultimately, Felicity decided on a shrug. “It just seems like the perfect time to distance myself from the Queen family. That's what I wanted for the last five years, but... I feel like I need to stick with him, which is crazy, I know.”  
  
“Well, he is your husband.”  
  
“No, he isn't. Not really and you know it.”  
  
“But you married him—spontaneously, when the Felicity I know never ever makes a rash decision. Must have been something there.”  
  
“I make no sense when I'm with him. He makes me do crazy things.”  
  
“It's his abs,” Kristina said, dead-serious. “Abs like that make women lose their minds. I speak from experience.” She hesitated shortly, before adding. “I mean he had great abs before he disappeared. I saw that picture of him when he showed them off at that club. I know I should think that just going around and randomly lifting up your polo shirt to swoon girls with your toned stomach is a dick move, but the sight is just too nice.... As I said, abs make women act stupid. Does he still have his?”  
  
The image of his stomach flashed in front of Felicity's inner eye and strangely the only thing she really remembered were the mean-looking scars covering it. “Yes,” she answered. “He still has them.”  
  
The ringing of her cellphone spared her from having to say more. Quickly, she sat up and reached for it. An unknown number was blinking in the display and for a second she was hesitant to answer. She had been confronted with too many reporters who had gotten hold of her private number to not be suspicious. Finally, she just decided to take the risk, “Yes?”  
  
“Felicity? It's me, Oliver.”  
  
“Oliver,” she said, surprised. “Hey.”  
  
“I bought a cellphone,” he informed her and somehow this sentence amused her. A smile showed on her face while she listened to him continue, “Tommy gave me your number. I just wanted to ask if I can come by your place tonight to talk.”  
  
“Yes, sure. I'll be home around eight.”  
  
“Eight's great.”  
  
Felicity thought that was another amusing sentence. But then she frowned. “Where are you? Sounds like you're in a really huge room.”  
  
Silence was the immediate answer, then he said, “I'm in one my father's old factories in the Glades. I felt like... I wanted to see how it’d changed.”  
  
The image of the old steel factory popped up in her head. She didn't know if that was the factory he was talking about, but it was just a very prominent ruin in that part of the city. Its closing had been one of the last death blows for the Glades. “Oh,” was all she could say to that. “I'm sure that has changed a lot.”  
  
“It has.”  
  
Again, there was silence. Felicity chose to end it. “Then I'll see you tonight, okay?”  
  
“Okay. Bye, Felicity.”  
  
“Bye, Oliver.”  
  
She ended the call and looked at her friend. “I will end it tonight.”  
  
Kristina's eyes rested on her for a moment, before she slowly nodded. “If that's what feels right to you.” She gestured toward the half-eaten blueberry muffin on the table between them. “But first, eat your muffin.”

 


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that after the mid-season finale we could all use a little lightness to lift our spirits, but... sadly, I have to get on with the backstory-building and that's... just not light. I hope that you like the chapter nevertheless.
> 
> The positive feedback and all the wonderful reviews haven't ceased to amaze me. I can only hope not to disappoint you from here on out, but – no pressure. ;-) 
> 
> Dedicated to **Albiona**. Thanks for making time in the midst of everything.

**October 11 th  2012**  
  
He was prepared to go out tonight. To get started. Finally!  
  
After he had left the mansion, he had gone back to the Glades, back to the factory and had gotten to work in the basement. It was the perfect hideout, the perfect base of operations. There was still a lot to do, walls to tear down, equipment to set up. Today he had managed to somehow get electricity going again. It was a start. Just like choosing his first target: Adam Hunt. He was in the news at the moment—so he was the perfect choice. This scumbag would not get away with poisoning Oliver's city.  
  
The only thing still missing for that was his bow.  
  
It was safely stored in his green box, which he had pushed under Felicity's bed last night. The nosey cleaning lady had had him worried for a moment, but he doubted that that woman would go as far as breaking open the huge lock he had attached to it. He would take the box with him when he left later tonight.  
  
He didn't like to admit it, not even to himself, but he was a little nervous about going back to her place, about their overdue talk. His hands tightened around the wine bottle – he had somehow felt like he couldn't show up empty handed – as the elevator came to a halt and the doors slid open. Tentatively, he stepped into the hall and turned to the right.  
  
The door to Felicity's apartment was ajar, startling him into alarm he reasoned that the concierge sitting behind the high, gloss-finished white desk in the main foyer – who had greeted him with a polite “Good evening, Mr. Queen; your wife informed me that you would visit and didn't have an elevator card” – had probably called ahead and told her that he was heading up. He knocked against the wooden door and pushed it further open, “Hello?”  
  
“Yes, come on in!”  
  
The smell of food filled the air. It reminded him that he hadn't eaten today, hadn't thought about it, because there had been too many other things on his mind. But this smelled really nice, making his stomach rumble.  
  
“Hey,” she greeted him as he turned the corner. “I hope you like steak. I think we both had a long day and I, for one, didn't have time to eat much – apart from a muffin, but that was mostly vitamins – and I thought maybe you'd appreciate a home cooked meal instead of take-away pizza. But steak is the only thing I really know how to make, so—” She caught herself and stopped talking shortly, before she said, “I'm sorry. I just hope you like steak.”  
  
Oliver walked toward her. “I do like steak. And I am hungry.” He lifted the bottle of Lafite Rothschild 1982. “I brought wine."  
  
“Great,” she motioned toward a cupboard to her right. “Wine glasses are in there. The opener is in the drawer below. Food is about ready.... Is medium okay?”  
  
“Perfect.”  
  
Minutes later they sat down at the dining table with their filled plates and filled glasses and Oliver had to admit that this was nice. It was somehow relaxing being here, sitting at the table with a perfect view over the nighttime city and eating the best steak he had ever had. “Wow,” he said, chewing, “this is really good.”  
  
A genuinely happy smile showed on her face. “Thank you. I'm glad. It's the one thing I really know how to cook. I fail at mostly everything else.” She was once again talking very quickly. “I am the worst homemaker ever. I hate cleaning, with a passion. But since I had to fire Rosa today and I am not sure I'll trust anybody after the stunt she pulled, I will have to give it a try.” She looked at him with honest hurt in her eyes. “Rosa worked for me for two years! She showed me pictures of her children and invited me to her son's big break as a broccoli in the last school play. How could—” Again she stopped talking. Instead, she reached for her wine glass. “I'm sorry. I honestly never believed she would do what she did today.”  
  
Oliver swallowed a mouth full of steak. “That's what people do: betray you.”  
  
Felicity let the glass sink. The look on her face caused Oliver to avoid her eyes and concentrate on his plate. He had just filled his mouth with potato (it was a little hard, but he had eaten worse than nearly raw potato), when Felicity spoke up, her voice soft. “I have a hard time trusting people, too, but that's a really drastic conclusion to come to.” She set her glass down and reached for her fork. “But I guess after five difficult years, it's okay to be drastic.”  
  
Chewing, he looked at her: how she sat there in a black-and-white blouse with her hair pulled into a high ponytail. He saw the marks he had left on her neck, and he wondered how she could just sit there, eat with him after everything he had done to her. He wondered how she could not have come to the same drastic conclusion after everything that she’d obviously had to endure. How could she be like that and treat him like that, when he was basically the root of everything evil that had happened to her? He swallowed.  
  
“I heard you had five difficult years yourself.”  
  
Her eyes snapped to him. She visibly stiffened, then relaxed.  
  
“Yes,” she admitted. “It wasn't easy.” Oliver could practically see her pulling herself together, steeling herself, while she set the fork and the knife down. He saw determination on her face when she looked up again and met his eyes. “There are some things you need to know.”  
  
Slowly, he nodded and decided to just make it easier for her. “I already do know some things: I know you were pregnant with my baby. I know that you lost him.”  
  
“Yes,” she whispered. “I lost him. That's the short summary of everything.”  
  
“Tell me the long story.” It was a gentle request. “I'd like to know everything.”  
  
She looked at him for a moment, before she started talking. “When I found out that I was pregnant, I freaked. Obviously. I was barely 20. I still had two more years at MIT, I was there on a scholarship and I had absolutely no money. My family is classic white trash and I tried to get out of there, tried to get a good education.”  
  
“You contemplated abortion,” he concluded. “I understand that.”  
  
“I thought about it, yes.” Her voice coating more and more with each word, she said, “but the first ultrasound and—bang! I fell in love.” Tears collected in her eyes and she stopped talking. Slowly she blew air out between her lips, collected herself, blinked the tears away. “Sorry,” she said then. “I didn't expect it to be this hard. Five years, one would think I would have come to terms with it.”  
  
He just dared to give her a small smile, tried to send her silent encouragement, because he didn't know what to say, because he felt his own heart turning unexpectedly heavy.  
  
“Anyway. Our drunken wedding was a big story. Paparazzi followed me everywhere and your mother contacted me,” she said, adding an explaining, “Damage control.” Oliver nodded. Yes, his mother had always been good at that. “So, when I decided to have the baby, I informed her, because... I wanted that baby to have a future, a good one, a better one than I could offer if I dropped out of college and went back to Las Vegas. And your mother... I think the idea that a little something of you had survived was comforting to her.”  
  
Oliver swallowed heavily once again, willing unwanted emotions to stay inside. To hide his uneasiness, he went back to eating.  
  
Felicity, on the other hand, ignored her food. She continued talking. Oliver noticed that for once she wasn't talking quickly, wasn't rushing out the words. She was taking her time to tell him this, even if her next words were, “To make it short: I signed a contract. It was all legal mumbo jumbo that boiled down to the facts that your family supported me and the child financially, that I had guardianship, but I had to move to Starling. Your mother wanted visitation rights, stuff like that. And I had to stay a Queen; the baby had to be a Queen. Your mother gave a long interview about how we were in love before drunkenly marrying in Vegas.... It was a very elaborate, carefully crafted web of lies that made us seem like we were much more than we really were. She also hinted that Sara might have snuck onto the boat without your knowledge.” Her voice was even as she stated, “I think this is a good point to mention that Laurel hates my guts.”  
  
Oliver forked the last piece of steak. “Yes, that has come to my attention.”  
  
Felicity frowned. “How?”  
  
“I think my main clue was when I met Laurel this morning and she called you a soulless slut.”  
  
“Yes,” Felicity nodded, “that sounds about right.” A deep sigh left her lips. “I know she has every right to be angry, but, seriously, that woman....” She shook her head and looked at him with said eyes. “I'm stalling,” she admitted then, “because all of this doesn't really matter. What matters is the baby and....” Again, she exhaled slowly, calming herself down. She looked past him, toward the window, when she spoke up again. “He had a heart-condition. I knew that; there was tiny holes in his heart, the doctor here in Starling, who was encouraged to a very thorough examination by your mother's money, found it pretty early on. But he said that it wasn't uncommon, that it was nothing to worry about, that everything was fine and....” She broke off and now she looked at him when she said, “No matter what he said, it wasn't fine. His heart stopped beating. Just like that.” Her eyes were swimming in tears again, but this time she continued talking. “I knew something was wrong, because he was always very active – I could always feel him moving – but then he just stopped.” The first tear slipped out of her eye. “He died, inside me.” More tears followed. “My son. Our son.”  
  
Following a sudden impulse, Oliver reached across the table for her hand, squeezing it in silent comfort. She tightened her hand, too. Oliver took her in, how she sat there, and his heart just broke for her, for the hurt she had experienced, was still experiencing. And the way she told him about it, he felt an unexpected sadness claim him, too. She had said it, the s-word, had called the baby “our son.” She had made the loss mutual, and part of him wished he had shared it with her, more than hearing the story five years later.  
  
Tears were still gliding down her cheeks, taking her mascara with them. She wiped them away before she met his eyes. “I called him Jonas.”  
  
“I know,” Oliver whispered and was surprised by the emotion audible in his voice. “Thea showed me the grave today.”  
  
“She did?”  
  
“Don't be mad at her. She wanted to show me that you're a good person to let in.”  
  
“I'm not mad,” Felicity said, “just surprised. I haven't really talked to Thea in years.”  
  
“I know. She's embarrassed about that, about how she stopped calling.”  
  
“Still? Really? I told her it was fine to distance herself from me—I was toxic back then.”  
  
Without realizing it, he tightened his grip on her hand. “Tell me what happened next.”  
  
“They induced contractions and I gave birth to him.”  
  
His breath hitched in his throat. “You gave birth to our dead son?”  
  
“I did. What else was I supposed to do? I couldn't leave him where he was,” she said, calmly.  
  
Of course. Sure. Now that she said it, it was logical; he just hadn't contemplated it before.  
  
For the first time since she had started her tale, she smiled. “He was beautiful. Tiny, really tiny. I got to hold him, shortly, but then they took him away. Your mother was with me. And that day, she was great. Really, she was. She held him, too.”  
  
“I'm sorry.”  
  
“Yeah,” she said softly, “I'm sorry, too. You have so much to process as it is, coming back here, returning from the dead. And I'm only piling on more weight.” She cleared her throat, her voice was stronger when she continued, “I just need you to know that I loved Jonas. I loved our son. I wanted him to be in my life more than anything. I need you to believe me that that is the truth.”  
  
He could see it in her eyes; he could see how important this was to her. “I believe you,” he assured her and he really meant it. He didn't know much about her, but he knew that she wasn't that good of a liar.  
  
Relief rolled off her as she heard his affirmation. She seemed a little more relaxed now, dared another smile. “Thank you.” He was about to tell her that there was no need to thank him, when she said, “Because most people believe that I had an abortion. I guess it's even more drama than a stillborn baby.... An abortion in the 27  th  week. That's too crazy. Nobody should believe that. Strangely, nearly everybody did.”  
  
His eyes traveled over the woman he was legally married to. Her eyes were slightly reddened, surrounded by traces of smeared mascara, but the tears had dried. Her face was relaxed. He could feel her sadness, but it wasn't loud or fresh or prominent. Her loss, he understood, was part of her, she had grown used to it, and she probably didn't share it with anybody. Especially, since people didn't believe her to have lost anything at all. He looked at her and was very serious when he said, “I'm sorry.”  
  
“Yeah,” she accepted his try at comfort, before she sighed. “I will just make it quick, okay? I had signed that contract and your mother had told all those lies, which meant that I had to keep going, keep being a Queen. I went back to MIT, got my undergraduate degree and Walter helped me start my own business. The image of being a cold-hearted bitch does come handy in the corporate world, though.”  
  
“I can imagine.”  
  
“So, those were the last five years of my life in a nutshell.”  
  
“Doesn't sound like a walk in the park.”  
  
“From what I saw last night, you didn't spent the last five years on some deserted beach chilling in the sun, either.”  
  
All this time his hand had rested on hers, but now he quickly broke contact. He stiffened in his seat.  
  
“Sorry,” Felicity said quickly. “That came out wrong.”  
  
“No, it's the truth. There was very little chilling in the last years.” She looked at him with compassion, and he remembered his sister's haunting words that he had to let somebody in.  
  
“The island wasn't deserted, was it?”  
  
Shocked, he stared at her. Her question that was filled with so much certainty hit him completely unexpected. It was like it slapped him in the face. “Why would you ask that?”  
  
“Your scars. They don't look like animals attacked you.” She looked at him for a moment, before she sank back in her seat. “I'm sorry. It's okay, if you don't want to talk about it. Really, it is.”  
  
“I wasn't alone on the island.” It was more than he had planned on telling her. He was letting her in further than he had originally wanted to, but now that the words left his lips, it was strangely freeing to admit it. It made him want to say more. “There were soldiers on it, too. They tortured me. That's why I have the scars.”  
  
Hearing this, she sat up straight again and tensed. “Tortured you?” He could hear the confusion in her voice, the absolute non-understanding of what he was saying. She sounded honestly taken aback and at a loss when she asked, “Why would somebody do that?” He found that question and her honest consternation strangely comforting. She looked at him, her blue eyes a little bigger than they usually were. “I don't know what to say. I feel like I should say something insightful or... just comforting, but all I can think of is: How awful! I'm so sorry! I wish you didn't have to experience that.”  
  
An honest smile tugged at the corners of his mouth for a moment. “Since I only came up with an 'I'm sorry' when you told me about your previous five years, I will just take it and say ‘thank you'.”  
  
“It's hard to find words for what you must have gone through.”  
  
“Yes,” he nodded, “the same is true for you.”  
  
“Why did they—”  
  
Noticing the look that crossed his face and interpreting it correctly, she stopped talking instantly. He was grateful for that, because he had already revealed too much with those four sentences, more than he had ever planned on telling anybody.  
  
“You don't want to say any more about it,” she said, her voice soft.  
  
“Maybe some other time.”  
  
“I'm always willing to listen.”  
  
“I will get back to that.” He hesitated before saying, “I would appreciate it, if this stayed between us.”  
  
“Of course!” She hurried to assure him. “Nothing that was said will leave this room. And nothing that was done will leave my bedroom.” She flinched as she heard her words. “That came out wrong.”  
  
He understood what she was referring to and nodded. “I appreciate that. Last night—”  
  
“It's okay, Oliver, really. Especially, after what you just told me. It's fine. I bought new scarfs and turtle necks today. Fashion bloggers will be baffled by Felicity Queen's new style.”  
  
She was trying to lighten the mood, he knew. It was another thing he appreciated about her. “Well, I have to say that this was the most intense dinner conversation I’ve had, ever. But it was strangely nice.”  
  
“Yes. I'm relieved that I got to tell you my version. Thank God there was no internet connection where you were or you would have had a very bad impression of me.”  
  
“Oh the blessings of being away from Google.”  
  
She chuckled, before she reached for her wineglass again, and Oliver noticed that she had barely eaten anything, but he didn't get to comment on it before she asked, “Did you find a new place, like you wanted?”  
  
“No,” he admitted. “I got sidetracked.”  
  
“You can stay here as long as you want.”  
  
“That's a very nice offer, but I couldn't stay here after last night. Not after what happened. I'll rent a hotel room.”  
  
“Oliver— ” she started, but stopped objecting. “You know what? If that's what feels right to you, do that. But please know that my offer stands from here until whenever. Take it up at any time you want. I will go and buy a bed for the guest room tomorrow in any case.”  
  
“Felicity,” he smiled, “you are remarkable.”  
  
She did, too. “Thank you for remarking that.”  
  
“It's good to know that even during the time in my life when I was acting the most stupid, I was smart enough to choose you as my drunken wife.”  
  
Now she laughed. It was a wonderful sound. He couldn't remember the last time he had heard somebody laugh so genuinely. In the last five years nobody had laughed like that in his presence. It warmed another part in him that had been ice cold. Her eyes shining with amusement, she looked at him. “What were we thinking that night? Seriously, it was such a dumbass stunt.”  
  
“Oh, I know perfectly what I was thinking. I thought you were unbelievably hot.”  
  
She laughed again. “No, you didn't.”  
  
He was dead serious. “Oh, believe me. I did.”  
  
The laughter died on her lips and he knew that what he had said seemed completely foreign to her and it obviously left her uneasy. The fact that she clearly didn't know how beautiful she was was part of what made her even more beautiful. It had been part of what had made her so hot even back in Las Vegas. Suddenly, he realized what he was thinking and chided himself for letting this happen. He had no time for such distractions! It was time to change topics. “I know we have to talk about our situation, but can we schedule another date to discuss divorce? I'm really exhausted and I think discussing two awkward topics are enough for one dinner.”  
  
“Yes,” she agreed. “We can leave that for the next intense dinner conversation.”  
  
“Great,” he said, surprised by the teasing he heard in his own voice, “something to look forward to.” Nearly reluctantly he added, getting up from his chair, “I should get going.” He really had to, he had to get to Hunt.  
  
She rose from her seat as well. They looked at each other and silently agreeing on the next logical action to both of them. They hugged. It was a friendly hug and it felt right and natural to share it right in this moment.  
  
When they let go again, Felicity's eyes met his. “You are a good guy, Oliver Queen. I'm sorry I called you an asshole during our awkward morning after.”  
  
“Don't apologize. Back then I was an asshole. And not going on that yacht with me was the best decision you ever made.”  
  
“Yes, I must admit that I did thank my lucky stars, when I first heard the news. And I must admit that I'm thanking my lucky stars again right now.” She flinched. “Is it okay to say that?”  
  
“I would worry if you wished you’d been stranded on an island with me and torturing soldiers.”  
  
“Yeah, that doesn't sound desirable.” Her eyes were still connected to his and he could see that she was dead serious about what she said next, “But you survived it, Oliver. That's all that matters. You made it through those five years and now you're back. You still have so much life ahead of you. This can be a new beginning.”  
  
“Yes,” Oliver nodded. “That's a really nice way to look at it.”

 


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting with a Christmas buzz is a bad idea – the time I just needed to type this, then go and correct all the mistakes is worrisome – so let me make it short: Merry Christmas to all of you amazing people. I hope you had/have wonderful holidays!
> 
> All my love to all of you and again: Merry Christmas!

**October 12** **th** **2012  
  
** Seeing the look in Adam Hunt's eyes as he stared up the bow pointed at his heart had been gratifying. The man was a coward, hiding behind brutes with muscles that did the dirty work for him. If Hunt was unable to bribe somebody, they would threat this person into submission. But Oliver had shown them their limits. He had shown what it was like to fight somebody who knew what he was doing.  
  
After the intense but strangely nice dinner with Felicity, he had needed to untie the emotional knot that had built inside him. Confronting Adam Hunt in the basement garage had done the trick perfectly. This man needed to be taught a lesson.  
  
If he had learned it, Oliver would find out tonight.  
  
Tonight, he would cross the first name of the list his father had given him. Oliver would make sure of it. It was a very long list, full of Starling City's finest, who had built their wealth on the backs of other people, full of people Oliver had to deal with in some way. It was a task that would take time and dedication, something that wasn't achieved overnight. Oliver knew, but he had made a promise—and he would keep it. Nothing would distract him from his goal.  
  
Nothing. Even though, yesterday he had realized that he couldn't just cut his family off. His talk with Thea had showed him that he couldn't just do as he pleased anymore; he needed to consider them.  
  
Because if he ignored them now, he might as well never have come back to them at all.  
  
For a while he had contemplated just sneaking back to Starling City, without anybody knowing. Part of him believed that they were better off not knowing he was still alive. It would have been easier for everybody, if they just believed him to be dead and remembered the Ollie he was before the _Queen's Gambit_ sank. It would be easier for him, if they never saw who he had become.  
  
But he hadn't been able to do that. He had missed them in the five years he had been gone. He had thought about his mother and Thea a lot. He had needed to see them.  
  
His talk with Felicity had proven to him that he had made the right decision. Because it showed him that he wasn't the only one dealing with the events following his disappearance. Oliver knew that his mother and his sister had suffered, too, and he needed to be with them, or his father's sacrifice was in vain.  
  
He had decided to visit the mansion, maybe have breakfast with his mother and his sister, but his plan went out the window when the front door opened just as he was heading toward it. His mother and her new husband stepped out, followed by a huge black man. “Oliver, sweetheart,” his mother smiled at him. “Did you come for a visit?”  
  
“I did. Are you heading out?”  
  
“We’re invited to brunch, I am sorry. But it’s a good thing you came by; we planned on making a stop at Felicity’s.” She smiled and motioned for the very muscular man to step forward. “Oliver, this is John Diggle. He will be accompanying you from now on.”  
  
Stupidly, Oliver blinked at his mother. Because, really, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Suddenly, the idea to reconnect with his family seemed incredibly stupid. “I don't need a babysitter.”  
  
“He is not a babysitter,” Moira corrected. “He is a bodyguard. And I hired him for you.”  
  
“Mom,” Oliver said, trying to mask his annoyance. “I don’t need you to hire a bodyguard for me. I don’t need a bodyguard, period.”  
  
Walter cleared his throat. “Darling, Oliver is a grown man. If he doesn’t feel like he needs armed protection….”  
  
But Moira wouldn’t have it, she just shook her head. “I understand. But this is something _I_ need.” She took a step toward her son. “We just got you back and somebody already tried to kidnap you.”  
  
Oliver knew he had lost even before she added the “Please. For me.” He should have trusted his instincts and kept his distance.

______________________________________

 

An inanimate object could spur an immense amount of negative feelings. If there was one person to know this, it was Felicity Queen, who had assembled her first computer when she had still been Felicity Smoak and only eleven years old. Since then, she had experienced many, many moments that had made her want to hit a monitor or trash a keyboard or kick a tower.  
  
But, still, the way Yongtak Chan hated the Particle Accelerator seemed a bit excessive.  
  
“I tell you, it’s a disaster in the making. You don’t want Firestorm connected with that thing in any way.”  
  
Felicity looked at her Vice President, her friend, and sounding board since their shared MIT-days. He looked uncommonly agitated. His black bushy hair, always neatly combed upwards and styled into an impeccable pompadour, had been mussed by one anxious hand, and another, carding through it. His disoriented dark locks told Felicity more about the seriousness of their situation than anything he’d said.  
  
“I admit that it's not my field of expertise,” Felicity said, “but isn’t something that can generate clean power for a whole city something we want to be connected to?”  
  
“Theoretically.”  
  
“And practically?” Felicity asked, giving Yongtak a pointed look over the table separating them.  
  
“Do you understand how that thing's supposed to work?”  
  
Inwardly, Felicity cringed. “Rudimentally… at best.”  
  
“So, how are we supposed to code for something not even _you_ understand and you are crazy smart.”  
  
“Stop that cheap flattery.” Felicity looked at the master-coder opposite to her, before she sank back in her favorite purple seat. “I wanted this to be a good idea. I wanted this to be the first step to Central City.”  
  
“Fe, ultimately you're the boss and you decide what we do. But you asked for my opinion, and I’m telling you: this thing is dangerous. Wells is dangerous.”  
  
That caused Felicity to sit up straight again. “What—“ A knock cut her off.  
  
She glanced toward the door, and Jerry poked his head in. “I’m sorry,” her assistant apologized. "But there’s a John Diggle here, who says he’s your husband’s bodyguard and he needs you to contact Mr. Queen ASAP." Felicity stared at Jerry blankly as she tried to sort out that sentence. Jerry nodded. “I know. But he’s really scary.”  
  
Felicity sighed. “Sure, send him in.” She stood. In the next moment, she was faced with a man whose muscles were seriously straining the seams of his suit. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Yongtak shamelessly check him out. Ignoring him and praying that the other man didn’t notice, Felicity held her hand out. “Hello, I’m Felicity Queen.”

The black man shook her hand. “John Diggle.” He had a very nice voice, deep and comforting. Calm radiated from him, a laid-back aura of capability that Felicity found soothing. Now he added a small smile. “I'm your husband’s bodyguard.”  
  
“Since when?”  
  
“Since this morning. But I'm sorry to say that he jumped out of a moving car to escape me. That makes it hard for me to protect him.”  
  
“Yes, I can see how that would.” Felicity looked at the man in front of her, thinking, then she stepped to the door and closed it. Only then did she turn to the huge man again. “I agree that jumping out of a moving car is…”  
  
She was searching for a fitting adjective, when Yongtak spoke up from where he was sprawling out on his seat, “It’s fucking _crass._ ” That caught John Diggle’s attention and the programmer sent him his most winning smile. “Hello, I’m Yongtak and I wouldn’t run away from you. I'd let you guard me anytime.”  
  
“Tak!” Felicity couldn’t believe he had actually said that. It left Felicity so uncomfortable that she felt the need to do something. So she went to her desk, reached for her cell and called Oliver’s number.  
  
He answered after the third ring. “Felicity.”  
  
“Oliver, why are you doing dangerous stuff to get away from the man who’s supposed to keep you safe?”  
  
Silence was the first answer to the question, before Oliver came up with a “What?”  
  
“There’s a Mr. Diggle here who says you jumped out of a moving vehicle to escape him.”  
  
Again silence followed, then he sighed. “You can tell him that ratting me out to the wife is a low blow.”  
  
“I must say that I find it kinda funny, actually.”  
  
“If you find him so amusing, you can have him.”  
  
Now Felicity sighed, turning serious. “Oliver, why did you hire a bodyguard, if you ditch him first chance you get?”  
  
“I didn’t hire him, my mother did. Because of the kidnapping yesterday.”  
  
Felicity stiffened. “What kidnapping?”  
  
“Never mind,” his voice sounded like a sigh. “Can you please keep Diggle occupied? I'd really like some time alone. Aren’t there any paparazzi outside your office you need protection from?”  
  
“Oliver, if there’s one thing I know how to handle, it’s paparazzi. Plus, your mother hired him for you, not for me.”  
  
“You’re right. What would she say, if he ended up looking after you….” There was a teasing exaggeration in his voice.  
  
“I know what you’re doing.” He was addressing her inner teenager, the part of her that enjoyed rattling Moira with the most stupid and harmless stuff possible, more than she enjoyed acting her age.  
  
“And? Is it working?”  
  
Felicity’s posture crumbled a little. “Damn it, yes.”  
  
“Thank you.” Again silence settled over the conversation, and Felicity was about to end the call, when Oliver spoke up again. “Keep him occupied until tonight and bring him to the party.”  
  
“What party?”  
  
“Tommy’s throwing me a welcome home bash. Apparently, when you return from the dead you get a party.”  
  
“There are worse things to celebrate.” It was the truth. Felicity and Kristina had once celebrated Channing Tatum's abs. Now that Felicity thought about it, her best friend really did have a thing for abs.... But no matter how good the reason was in theory, in practice Felicity didn't think the whole thing was such a good idea. “But do you really think a party's the best thing right now? I mean...” She was choosing her words very carefully. “You just came back and you have some things to work through.... A party seems counter-productive.”  
  
“Partying is what we used to do.” Oliver sighed. “The party is more for Tommy than for me.” He paused for a second, before he said, “I want you to go with me.” It wasn’t a request, it was a statement.  
  
“Oh, no no no.” Felicity shook her head in a useless gesture he couldn’t see over the phone. She felt four curious eyes on her and she knew that two of them belonged to the biggest gossip queen in the office. “Hold up,” she spoke into the phone, before she lifted an angry index finger and motioned between the two men in the room with her. “If one word of what I say leaves this office, I will sue you both!”  
  
Yongtak smirked. “Oh really? Sue us for what?!”  
  
“You?!” Her finger landed on him. “For sexual harassment!”  
  
“You wish!” Yongtak was still grinning. “When gay guys tell women they have amazing boobs, it's a welcome compliment.”  
  
“No, it isn’t. And, I'll sue you in behalf of him!” She motioned to Diggle, before she threw up the hand not holding the cellphone up.“Stop staring at his ass! You’re the _worst_ , really!” She then turned her attention to the bodyguard. “And I’ll sue you for losing my husband.”  
  
John Diggle seemed unfazed and slightly amused. Felicity got the impression that he understood her playful threats perfectly. He crossed his arms over his chest, really testing the seams of his jacket and causing Yongtak to ogle his bicep. “I sighed a non-disclosure agreement.”  
  
“Felicity?” Oliver’s voice hit her ear and she went back to the topic at hand.  
  
“Oliver, I cannot go to this party with you because Tommy hates my guts.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because he sided with Laurel. Really, he despises me. He would freak if you brought me.”  
  
“Let him freak; it’s my party.”  
  
“You said that you’re mostly going to make him happy. My presence would ruin his night. Seriously, he—”  
  
“Felicity,” he cut her off, “I don’t care. I’d like you to go with me.”  
  
Her brain was working overtime trying to come up with a way to discuss this without giving away that their marriage was a sham. John Diggle may have signed a non-disclosure agreement and she may consider Yongtak Chan a friend.... Still, apart from her best friend, she had never told anybody about the elaborate web of lies Moira Queen had spun. And she especially wouldn't do it now that even Rosa had betrayed her trust. The falsehood of the marriage had been a secret as long as Oliver had been gone, and she didn’t feel like revealing it now that he was back. Finally, she settled for the easiest way possible to ask everything she wanted to know, “Why?”  
  
“It’s a statement.”  
  
Yes, it was. Taking her to his welcome home party would send a clear message, one that she really appreciated. After everything that had happened and that the public believed to have happened, he’d be siding with her quite publicly and literally. It was his first official outing, and he wanted her by his side. He had a pretty good idea of what people believed her to be, of who _Felicity Queen_ was, but he still wanted her to be there. And all that left her only one answer.  
  
“Okay,” she said, her voice a little heavier than she wanted it to be. “Let’s do this. But we need to show up there together.”  
  
“I’ll come by your place at eight. Diggle can drive us. Thank you for giving me the day off.”  
  
“No problem, I’ll see you at eight. Bye.”  
  
“Bye.”  
  
She ended the call and met John Diggle’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Mr. Diggle. You’re stuck protecting me today.” She smirked. “I promise I won't jump out of any cars.”

______________________________

He had needed this, this day of solitude, of being alone with his own thoughts. It had helped him regain focus. It had also been good to finally get things done. Setting up his base of operations was the first thing that needed to be accomplished.  
  
That was done. He had worked there all day. It wouldn't win any home-decor contest, but it was functional and that was all he needed it to be.  
  
In about two hours he would have accomplished the second thing—one way or the other. Either Oliver would look at his phone and find forty million dollars on the bank account he had set up or he would cross the street and kick some ass. Tommy had been a little surprised when Oliver had suggested the Turner Building for his party, but had agreed that it was a perfect location to house that many people.  
  
It was the only reason Oliver had agreed to go to this party anyway—it was a solid cover.  
  
Just like bringing Felicity. If people really hated her as much as she claimed they did, they should keep their distance.  
  
He was taking her to the lion's den, he knew. But she'd be fine, even if he had to leave. She'd have John Diggle with her. Oliver had done his research on him today and he had to give his mother that: she had chosen a very capable bodyguard. Ex-military, exemplary record, excellent with any firearm—Oliver had tried, but he could find no fault. Whatever happened tonight, Felicity would be safe with that guy.  
  
Right then Oliver saw the bodyguard, his bodyguard that he hoped to permanently push off. John Diggle stood in the door of Felicity's apartment, watching the other man head toward him. His face was even as he greeted, “Mr. Queen.”  
  
“Diggle,” Oliver said as he walked past him into the apartment, scratching the “Mister” as the former soldier had told him to do, right before Oliver had jumped out of the Bentley. He stopped and watched as Diggle closed the door. Oliver’s face and voice stayed even, “You ratted me out to the wife.”  
  
The other man turned around, his features as blank as Oliver's. “And in return you made me spend the afternoon in changing rooms while she shopped for a new dress.”  
  
Now Oliver had to hide a smirk.  
  
John Diggle’s face, on the other hand, stayed completely unaffected as he looked at Oliver but called past him, “Felicity, your husband’s here.”  
  
“Hey,” came her voice from her bedroom down the hall. “I need another minute.”  
  
“Okay,” Oliver called back, “take your time.” His eyes never left the man opposite of him. “I see you’re on a first name basis.”  
  
“We are, Mr. Queen.”  
  
They were sizing each other up, and Oliver couldn’t help but think that his impression from the data had been correct: John Diggle knew what he was doing. Oliver motioned for the bodyguard to follow him into the living room. The huge TV hanging on the wall was turned on, a football game was playing, and Oliver couldn’t help but think that it had been five years since he had seen the last one. Right then, he found that he had actually missed it. His eyes lingered on the screen for a moment, then he turned toward John Diggle, who looked at him half-curiously, half-challengingly. Oliver kept his face calm and neutral. “I need you to keep an eye on Felicity tonight.”  
  
“Sir,” Diggle said, “your mother hired me to look after you.”  
  
“I know. But I can handle myself.”  
  
“Can you?”  
  
“I can.”  
  
“So, how come you were kidnapped?”  
  
Oliver felt annoyance rise inside him. He chose to ignore the last question and resort to a lie. “I'm worried that, since my kidnapping didn’t work out, Felicity will be next. I might be wrong, but I need you to be prepared, just in case.” He curved the corners of his mouth upwards into something that could not quite count as a smile. “After all, you two are already on a first name basis.”  
  
Not waiting for an answer, Oliver walked past his unwanted bodyguard for the bedroom. The other man believed him to be Felicity’s husband. So why shouldn't he go and check on her?  
  
She stepped out of the walk-in closet just as Oliver entered the room. It was the most normal, ordinary thing but, to Oliver, it was a memorable moment. The sight of her caught him a little unprepared in the most positive way possible. He did a mental double take as his breath hitched in his throat.  
  
Never had he seen her like this. Her blonde hair fell in loose curls around her face. She had forgone her glasses and wore a blue dress that ended well above her knees. Her shoulders were bare, but there was no cleavage in sight as the cloth went up high to her neck. He knew that it was a strategic fashion move to hide the bruises, and that he should be appalled by this, but all he could think was that she looked breathtaking; she was so beautiful.  
  
“Is it too out there?” she asked, making it obvious that she had no idea his heart had started beating a little quicker in the last five seconds. She accompanied the question with a turn, revealing that, while the front of her dress was very high-necked, her back was bare.  
  
Oliver needed another few seconds to steady himself. “You look beautiful,” he told her truthfully.  
  
“It’s our first outing and I wanted to look nice,” she said.  
  
Sensing how nervous she was, he assured her, "You look more than nice.”  
  
She smiled. “Thank you." She gestured toward his grey suit and white dress-shirt. “You look very handsome yourself.”  
  
“Felicity?” Diggle voice came from down the hall. “The concierge says a Kristina’s in the lobby?”  
  
Felicity rolled her eyes slightly and muttered, “I should have known.” Then she raised her voice and called back, “Yes, she can come up.” She placed her attention back on Oliver. “My best friend,” she explained. “I bet she’s here to size you up—and probably to drop a shameless comment on your abs. Just ignore it.” Oliver was about to inquire about that when Felicity stepped closer to him. “She knows the truth about us,” she whispered. “She’s the only person I completely trust. Nobody else knows, only her.”  
  
Slowly, Oliver nodded and made a mental note to complete another background check tomorrow.  
  
Felicity, on the other hand, turned around now and headed back to the next room while saying, “What do you think? Red shoes? Or purple, maybe?”  
  
“What about blue ones?” Oliver asked and couldn’t believe that those words had actually left his mouth.  
  
“No,” Felicity objected from the adjoining room, “that’s too matchy-matchy. You need some contrast with your accessories. Matching shoes and clothes is so 2006.” Felicity reemerged with a frown on her face. “But I guess you have the perfect excuse for not knowing that.” Instantly, she flinched. Worry visible on her face, she asked, “Too soon? Probably. Because there most likely will never be a good time to joke about it, after—” She stopped herself. “I’m sorry.”  
  
The corners of Oliver’s mouth curved upwards into something that could only be called a real smile, even if it was a small one. “Don’t be. It really wasn't a very fashionable island.”  
  
“Thank God,” Felicity said as she slipped purple high heels on. “That would give the term ‘fashion victims' a whole different meaning.“  
  
Oliver didn’t react to that as he felt somebody appear behind him. His eyes landed on a very pretty woman with dark hair ~~~~pulled up in a messy bun. She was wearing blue jeans, a black shirt and sneakers, seemingly a contrast to Felicity in every way. She also wore a big and open smile as she said, “I hope I’m not interrupting.”  
  
Again, Felicity rolled her eyes. “No, Tina, you’re not.” She motioned between the two other people in the room and said, “Oliver, that’s my best friend Kristina. Kristina, that’s Oliver.”  
  
The smile was still on Kristina’s face. “Well, hello, Oliver. It’s nice to finally meet you. Because now I can thank you: your habit of randomly raising your shirt to show off your abs is a quality that’s too rare in men.”  
  
Oliver just stared at her and realized that he had absolutely no idea what to say to that. He chose to do as Felicity had suggested and ignore it.  
  
Kristina obviously didn’t expect an answer. She took a few more steps toward her friend and sized her up. “Wow, hon, that dress is amazing. The pictures you sent me don’t do it justice.”  
  
Felicity started. “You think it photographs poorly? Because I have nothing else to wear, I—“  
  
“Relax, honey.” Kristina smiled. “Breathe. You look beautiful.” She looked at Oliver. “Tell her how beautiful she looks.”  
  
“I already did,” Oliver clarified, but  ~~~~he chose to do as he was told anyway. “You look very beautiful.”  
  
Amused, Felicity shook her head and smiled at him. Oliver couldn’t help but think that she truly was a beautiful sight, especially with that smile. Kristina's eyes were still traveling up and down the outfit. “You should add a bracelet. But not the silver one you bought last week.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Because I was hoping to borrow it. I organized myself a date tomorrow.”  
  
“I can’t wear my bracelet, because you have a date?” Felicity asked and Oliver sensed that it was playful objection.  
  
“It’s a date with a doctor. A surgeon.”  
  
“Didn't you tell me that all surgeons were sluts?”  
  
“I intend to test that theory.” The grin that appeared on Kristina's face could only be called shameless, Oliver thought. Then she motioned toward Oliver. “It’s not like you could score anybody with your hubby by your side, anyway. But I need all the help I can get.”  
  
Again, there was teasing in Felicity's voice as she said, “You’re the worst.” She headed back to the walk-in closet.  
  
Oliver watched her leave and when he turned back around, Kristina had moved into his personal space. Quietly she said, “Listen, buddy. Felicity has finally started to be in a good place. She went through hell in the last five years and I know it’s not really your fault, but if you don’t treat her right, I will kick your ass.” Her voice was harsh, her eyes were stony. “I know it’s a very cliché thing to say, but you should take me seriously. I work in a hospital, I know how to make it look like natural causes.”  
  
Then she took a step backward and smiled toward the door where Felicity was appearing to hand her friend a silver bracelet. “Here, I want to hear details about your date.”  
  
“Thank you. I will keep you informed. And now I will let you get to your ‘yay, I'm not dead’-bash.” Her eyes landed on Oliver. She took another step backward and really studied the two of them. Her voice lilted in amusement when she said, “Hell, you two will turn some heads tonight. Don’t you dare complain about any paparazzi or gossip increase in the next days, because you brought it onto yourselves!” She winked. “Have fun, you two crazy kids.”

 

 


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this is the perfect chapter to post today: what could be better for New Years's Eve than a party?!
> 
> That being said, I hope you wonderful readers all have fun on this last night of 2014, however you're spending it. I'm looking forward to really get this story going in 2015 and I wish you nothing but the best for the upcoming year: happiness, health, love, and Olicity! Much love, Jules
> 
> Dedicated to **Albiona** —friend, beta, one woman support-group, and biggest sweetheart ever.

**October 12** **th** **2012  
  
** Felicity needed that car ride to become Felicity Queen.  
  
It was like a character she slipped into, like a mask she pulled on that was invisible to everybody else. Felicity Queen was the uncaring, unaffected, hardened version of herself. She was the front she put up, the barriers she erected to keep people at arms length and herself from being hurt. She had perfected the act in the past few years. And when the Bentley stopped at the cheesy red carpet Tommy had rolled out, she was ready.  
  
Oliver was already standing on the red carpet, the flashlights of the photographers washing over him, holding his hand out to help her from the car. As she strategically turned in her seat, so that she could get out of the car without flashing everybody or wobbling on her purple very high heels, their eyes met. She saw recognition in his, a realization that he shouldn't expect a smile of thanks from her right now. Not from Felicity Queen. He sent her the barest nod, and Felicity felt an unspoken understanding that gave her strength, that even hardened her ability to pretend.  
  
Felicity guessed it was true what they said: it took one to know one.  
  
Because Felicity knew that he was as good at pretending as she was—if not better. She had seen glimpses of the real him, a softer, more caring, very lost side of him, but he mostly kept that so well hidden.  
  
The photographers yelled at them. The men shouted for them to look here and there, to turn left, right. They didn't stop long, only a few seconds, but Felicity knew that it was long enough. When she had signed the contract with the Queen family, she had trained with a professional, who had told her how to pose and stand and walk and keep her face to look her best in pictures. The fact that you could actually make a living out of that still baffled Felicity, but she had to admit that it had helped her. It had given her confidence to face the uncounted paparazzi she had encountered ever since.  
  
She was sure that Oliver never had such training. He was probably so photogenic naturally—the jerk.  
  
His hand rested on her back, slipped to her waist beneath the dress and it seemed to her like the flashes from the cameras increased even more. She felt his fingers on her naked skin. It was nothing, the most harmless touch, but it reminded Felicity that it had been too long since a man had touched her like that.  
  
It was a relief to be inside, away from the photographers, but Felicity didn't feel like relaxing. She knew from experience to never let her guard down in public. As soon as you stepped outside your home, you were exposed to judging stares and camera phones and people thinking the worst of you—and never had Felicity felt as exposed as she did right now, with Oliver Queen by her side. Kristina had been right: this was gossip gold. But now was the time to own up to it.  
  
“You're really good at this,” Oliver whispered, leaning toward her.  
  
“Practice,” she whispered back. “Plus, your mother made me take a seminar.”  
  
For a second he looked like he wanted to laugh at a joke, but then he saw the seriousness in her eyes. He dimly shook his head, but said nothing. The music was getting louder with every step they took. His hand left her back as they started down the stairs and slipped into her hand. He squeezed it in silent comfort. It was a nice gesture that showed her that he at least could imagine that she was uneasy and nervous. She squeezed back, giving some reassurance back to him, while she made sure that her face stayed even.  
  
Her eyes travelled over the dancing people having a good time at the bottom of the stairs and across the floor of the venue. She found Tommy standing by the bar, watching them. Instantly, she knew she had been right before: he was not happy. Felicity's reaction was to straighten up even more.  
  
Tommy's response was to glue a smile onto his face. It was typical, Felicity thought: he always smiled things away, ignored them while he looked like he was enjoying himself. With a quick gesture to the DJ, he made the music stop. Felicity felt Oliver's grip on her hand tighten and for once she was sure that it was a subconscious reaction. She glanced at him and could practically seem him forcing his lips, which had suddenly pressed tightly together, to loosen. She watched Tommy race up the stairs, yelling, “Hey, everybody, HEY!” Once again Felicity couldn't help but wonder, what on earth made Tommy Merlyn believe that any of that was a good idea?  
  
The crowd hung on Tommy Merlyn's lips. He was a handsome billionaire and he told them to pay attention, so they paid attention as he yelled, “Man-of-the-HOUR!” They cheered in excitement as Tommy expected them to do. He moved to Oliver and hugged his best friend, who returned the hug—a little half-assed, if you asked Felicity. Oliver had let go of her hand, and Felicity kept from clapping or joining in the cheer that came from the crowd, because that wasn't Felicity Queen's style.  
  
The two men let go of each other and it was Tommy turning back to the crowd. “Let's give this man a proper HOMECOMING!”  
  
More cheering followed and the music set back in. Queen's “We are the champions” rang though the huge hall and Felicity couldn't help but think that this musical choice was typical Tommy Merlyn—it couldn't get cheesier or more cliché than that!  
  
Reaching for Felicity's hand again, Oliver walked down the last stairs with her by his side. Oliver sent her a quick glance and she nodded. They both knew what Tommy wanted Oliver to do. The round pedestal in the middle couldn't be missed. There was no way in hell Felicity would get up onto that thing. Now it was her letting go of his hand. She headed toward the bar as Oliver climbed the round platform, Freddy Mercury still singing. Oliver spread his arms, accepting the jubilation of the crowd. It was a bold gesture, Felicity thought, and decided that it was a good choice to go with cocky show-off. It was very expected, and it worked.  
  
“Ollie, Ollie, Ollie!” Tommy called as he headed toward Oliver with a pretty woman by his side, who was carrying a tray filled with shot glasses.  
  
That was the moment Felicity realized that her best friend was a genius: because, really, this was proof that the one percent really did put appearance over common sense. Tommy Merlyn shouldn't be serious about any of that, but Felicity knew that he was. He believed himself to be doing a good thing for his friend.  
  
Felicity felt many female eyes on her. Yeah, she guessed, those girls had expected Oliver Queen's homecoming to play out entirely differently. Ignoring the hostile glances, she looked at Oliver standing tall above the crowd. “Thank you very much, everybody!” he said now and Felicity couldn't help but feel like he was searching for something, anything to say next. Instead, he simply raised his glass and shouted, “I missed Tequila.”  
  
As the mostly female crowd broke into another round of cheers, Felicity felt admiration and sadness mix within her. It was a weird combination, but it felt adequate. Oliver really was the master at keeping up appearances. He was a man who had survived five years and its terrors had left visible, gruesome marks on his body. He had come back home with nightmares and more baggage than could fit into one green box, but still he stood there, raised his glass, and made it sound like his biggest problem while away had been the lack of partying. That he was able to do that so perfectly was admirable—especially since she knew all the effort it took to keep such a façade up. But it was also incredibly sad that he had to do this, had to pretend, and that all of this was the doing of the man who was supposed to be his best friend.  
  
She watched Oliver down his shot and the music switched to some party tune again. Oliver jumped down the pedestal and grabbed two more shot glasses from the tray the girl next to Tommy offered. Felicity turned toward Oliver as he handed her a shot glass. Leaning in to her ear, he whispered, “It's really been some time since I had Tequila.”  
  
Their eyes met and Felicity knew what he was talking about. She remembered the shots they did together in Las Vegas, the salt she had licked from his index finger. It had been such a bold move for Felicity Smoak, who had felt so wild and sexy in that moment—much more wild and sexy than she had been, Felicity Queen knew. Right as the memory of what he was referring to entered her mind, she couldn't keep a smile out of her face. She took the glass Oliver offered her and, looking into his eyes, clicked glasses with him. Throwing their heads back, they emptied their glasses. Swallowing, they looked at each other. It was a weird moment right in the middle of all these people, a weird but good moment. It fit the strange connection they had perfectly and Felicity dared to let herself enjoy it, that vague feeling of forming a team with him in the midst of all these strangers, who had no clue who they really were.  
  
It was more intoxicating than the Tequila.  
  
It didn't last long. Because Tommy Merlyn had to come and fuck it up. “Seriously, you had to bring her!”  
  
Felicity kept from giving Oliver an “I told you so.” Instead, she set the shot glass down onto the bar. As she turned around she saw John Diggle take position in the background.  
  
Oliver's voice was even as he said, “Of course, I had to bring her to my homecoming bash. She's my wife.”  
  
For once Tommy's happy façade slipped. “We both know she isn't.”  
  
“You of all people should know that she is. You were my best man!”  
  
The two friends looked at each other and Felicity hated that she felt bad for the tension vibrating between them. She fought down the urge to say something and ease the atmosphere, because that was another thing that Felicity Queen didn't do.  
  
“Man,” Tommy stated, “you don't have to live your mother's lies.”  
  
Oliver looked at him evenly. “I don't. Felicity and I are simply figuring out what we are.”  
  
Really? Were they? Hearing that, Felicity had to fight to keep her face from slipping. Part of her wanted to tell them that she could hear them, that she was standing right next to them and that it was really impolite to talk about her as if she wasn't there. But she really didn't want to get in the middle of that, of those two men who had been friends since kindergarten, but who needed to realize that five years stood between them and that they couldn't just continue where they had left off.  
  
Tommy glared at Oliver, who tried another one of those awful, fake smiles. “Tommy, relax,” he glanced around quickly. “It's a great party. I feel like dancing.” He looked at Felicity and held out his hand. “Wanna dance?”  
  
This caught her completely by surprise, but she agreed that getting away from this conversation was a good thing. She took his offered hand and let him lead the way.  
  
The first notes of a song you hadn't been able to escape for weeks rang through the huge room and Felicity knew that Rihanna was about to sing about diamonds in the sky. Strangely, Felicity couldn't help but think that she shouldn't dance to this song she had to officially hate, because her best friend was very anti-Rihanna for very dubious reasons that involved a bad date, bad shrimp, and a red umbrella. But those thoughts fled from Felicity's mind as Oliver reached for her.  
  
He was a good dancer. Felicity was more awkward than fit the image of Felicity Queen, but she managed to follow his lead and found herself relaxing more and more. It was also Oliver's hands calming her and she found that she was actually enjoying herself. They danced for a couple of songs, before Oliver gestured for them to leave the dance floor again.  
  
Together, they headed back to the bar. Oliver leaned over and shouted his order at the bartender—the music had turned even louder now. Felicity leaned back against the heavy wood and let her eyes travel over the crowd, only to land on Thea. She watched her until Oliver held a glass out to her. The red liquid at the bottom meeting yellow at the top made it clear that he had ordered her a Tequila Sunrise. In his other hand he had a small cubed glass with what looked like Scotch—a weird choice at a party like this, Felicity thought. Slowly, Felicity took the drink he offered her. Leaning in to him, she shouted over the music, “I really shouldn't drink this, I need to keep a clear head.”  
  
“Then just hold it,” he winked at her. “That's what I plan to do with mine. I just downed two shots of Tequila after all.”  
  
She looked at him and held her glass out to him. They clinked the rims again and Felicity took the smallest sip.  
  
She was about to say something when she realized that Oliver was looking at somebody past her. She glanced around and saw Tommy Merlyn, accompanied by Laurel Lance, walking toward them. Without really thinking about it, Felicity moved to stand next to Oliver and reached for his hand. When she realized what she had just done, she wanted to slap herself, but she was in character and she was unaffected and she was fucking Felicity Queen and she forced herself to loosen the grip on Oliver's hand.  
  
The party was going on around them, the music was blaring, the people were dancing and drinking, flirting—and Felicity knew that they were watching them. As inconspicuous as possible, they were glancing at the four people who stood by the bar, the two couples opposing each other, male and female on each side. Felicity could feel the curious eyes, but she wouldn't take her own off Laurel. Only once before had they stood this close to one another—and that hadn't been pretty.  
  
“If I had known that you'd bring her, I would've declined Tommy's invitation,” Laurel said, yelling over the loud music. It was the worst way to have this conversation.  
  
It was an impolite thing for Laurel to say, but it wasn't as rude as expected. Felicity Queen smiled a cold smile. “Laurel, it's always a pleasure to see you.”  
  
“Shut it!” She glared at Felicity, who acted perfectly unaffected. “I'm only here because Tommy reminded me that we,” she sent Felicity a look, “that's excluding slutty company, of course,” she placed her attention back on Oliver, “have too many years between us to leave things like we did.”  
  
Oh, Tommy had reminded her. Felicity looked at the billionaire boy opposite of her and fixated her eyes on him. He avoided her glare, ignoring her unspoken dare to go and tell his alleged best friend the truth, why he wanted these two to make up.  
  
“Laurel,” Oliver spoke loudly, his face still even. “We don't have to talk about this. Like this.”  
  
“But I'd like to talk about some stuff,” Laurel said, pointedly ignoring Felicity. “Is there someplace quieter we could go?”  
  
Felicity felt Oliver stiffen slightly next to her and she didn't know how to place that reaction. She felt a slight pang that she really wished wouldn't be there. But her mask was firmly in place, and right in that moment she noticed somebody out of the corners of her eye again that gave her the perfect excuse to get away from this awkward situation. She turned to Oliver and motioned behind herself. “I'll go and have a little chat with Thea.”  
  
Oliver eyes snapped behind Felicity and narrowed instantly. His body tensed up even more.  
  
“I'll handle it,” Felicity said and noticed the confused glances Tommy and Laurel shared.  
  
“I'll make it quick,” was Oliver's answer. Felicity knew that she shouldn't celebrate this sentence as much as she did, but she couldn't help it. They shared another quick glance before Felicity nodded shortly. She sent Laurel a pointed look and left without another word.  
  
Her heart was beating heavily as she walked through the crowd, which parted for her as if she was Moses and they were the Red Sea. It was all about appearance, all about seeming calm and collected and keeping her cool, but somehow her normally strong resolution was rattled. Still, there was no way she would let any of these people notice that!  
  
“Thea!” she greeted the younger girl.  
  
The brunette smiled. “Felicity! Oliver's party is so sick.”  
  
“Yeah,” Felicity answered, sarcasm audible in each word. “It's the sickest.”  
  
Thea glanced around. “Where is Ollie?”  
  
“Discussing stuff with Laurel.”  
  
Thea stared at her sister-in-law, “Seriously?”  
  
“Seriously.”  
  
“That sucks, doesn't it?”  
  
“Let's just say many people noticed and the gossip won't be pleasant. But at least it kept people distracted from the fact that you just very openly invited Molly to the party.” Thea blinked stupidly, caught by surprise. Felicity took another step toward the teenager. “You're on probation, Thea. If they catch you with this shit, no expensive lawyer will be able to talk your way out of jail time.”  
  
Thea's normally gentle eyes turned hard. “You don't get to judge me.”  
  
Felicity realized that Thea had already taken something. When sober, the girl was never this aggressive or defensive. Felicity searched her face and found heavily dilated pupils. “I'm not judging you,” she said, trying to calm her down.  
  
But she didn't get to say anything else when Thea gestured to the Tequila Sunrise that was still in her hand. “You don't get to tell me what I can and can't do—especially not you. You might be good at keeping up appearances, but I can't do that.” The fact that Thea was smiling while talking, leaning into her to make sure Felicity heard her over the music without being overheard, was foiling the younger girl's claim not to be good at faking it. She was faking it like a pro right now, making it seem like they were having a friendly chat. “You all act like the last five years never happened, but they did happen. They are always with me, kinda like permanently in me and I'm _sorry_ you don't approve that I can't put on an uncaring mask. I'm sorry that I obviously turned into a disappointment for all of you, but this here is me working with what I have.”  
  
“Thea, you know that—”  
  
“Spare yourself whatever you want to say,” Thea said. “We're not friends. We're barely even family.”  
  
Thea was about to turn around and leave, but Felicity's hand closed around her arm. Squeezing hard, she kept the girl in place. “Oh, believe me, Thea, there were many moments when I wished that we weren't family, but whatever you want to call our strange thing we are connected and I care about you.”  
  
“Oh, you do?”  
  
“I do.” Felicity eased her grip. “And I'm not judging you. I'm just asking you to not add anything to what you've already taken. Throw Molly away and just enjoy the high you're on now.” It wasn't the most politically correct thing to say, Felicity knew. But Felicity also knew Thea's temper when she was high, she also knew about a nearly fatal overdose the public had luckily never found out about—and she decided that, maybe, it was just best to keep an eye on her and to keep her from adding more to the drugs that were already circulating through her system. Felicity tried a small smile, the first real one and said, “I know I don't have the right to ask you for anything, but Oliver's somewhere talking to Laurel and if you leave me standing here, I will be the miserable bitch abandoned at a party and that's just brutal. Please, ten minutes of dancing and you can storm off angrily.”  
  
Thoughtfully, Thea stared at her, then she reached into her purse and let a little plastic envelope drop to the floor. She smirked widely, suddenly excited. “Let's show these bitches how to party like two Queens!” Thea linked her arm with Felicity and led her onto the dance floor, while mouthing along with Sia who was claiming to be “Titanium” in nearly deafening volume.  
  
The negotiated ten minutes turned into twenty and then thirty. Thea was obviously riding her high and Felicity had to admit that she had given in to her own temptation and had, stupidly, emptied her Tequila Sunrise. “I didn't know you liked those,” Thea shouted over the music, gesturing to her empty glass.  
  
“I haven't had one in five years,” Felicity admitted.  
  
The confession caused Thea to smile. “Since you last met Ollie, you mean.”  
  
A certain hopeful excitement suddenly surrounded Thea, catching Felicity by surprise. She was about to say something to the younger girl, when suddenly armed men stormed down the huge stairs.  
  
“Oh shit!” was Thea's first reaction as she realized that those man spreading out in the room were policeman. Felicity reached for Thea's arm and pulled her off the dance floor. “Wait here. Don't move, take out your cellphone and act like you're texting somebody.” She glanced around and saw Detective Lance head toward Tommy. “I'll—” she dug her brain, but came up empty. “Don't know, do something. Wait here.”  
  
Thea nodded and Felicity pushed her way through the crowd as Detective Quentin Lance yelled, “PARTY'S OVER!” The music actually stopped. The crowd groaned and booed. Felicity reached the detective just in time to hear him say, “Tommy Merlyn, imagine my shock at finding you here. Back to old habits now that your partner-in-crime is back, I see.”  
  
“Detective,” Felicity heard her own voice and couldn't believe that she actually dared to get involved, but it was better to keep the attention on her and away from Thea. She tipped her head as she looked at Lance. “This is a private party.”  
  
“Mrs. Queen, of course! Always a pleasure to step onto your perfectly manicured toes.”  
  
“That's pedicured, Detective. And I doubt that you could do more damage to my feet than the heels I'm wearing.”  
  
“You always were a smartass.”  
  
“One of her best features,” Oliver complimented as he suddenly popped up next to Felicity and wrapped his arm around her. “Detective, what brings you here?”  
  
“There was an incident at Adam Hunt's building next door. Do you know anything about that?”  
  
Oliver's hand rested on Felicity's back. “Who's Adam Hunt?”  
  
“He's a millionaire bottom feeder, and I'm kind of surprised you two aren't friends.”  
  
“I've been out of town for a while.”  
  
“Well, he got attacked by a guy in a hood—and that sounds suspiciously like the guy who saved your ass the other day.”  
  
Felicity couldn't help but look at Oliver in confusion. What the hell was Lance talking about? But Oliver's mask of indifference was perfectly in place. “The hood guy?” he asked, now sounding mildly interested. “You didn't find him? Let me help you.” He let go of Felicity and took a step back as he brought his hands to his lips as if to increase his shouting. “Two million dollars to anybody who catches the hood guy!”  
  
It was a cocky gesture. It was even more out there than the posing on the pedestal. When he had let the crowd celebrate him as he stood on the platform, Felicity had known that he had hidden his insecurities behind a broad gesture. So: what was he hiding now? She looked at him in curious confusion as the people around her cheered.  
  
In the next moment Lance took two quick steps forward, limiting the space between him and Oliver. “Did you even try to save her?” he spat. “Did you even try to save my daughter?”  
  
Detective Hilton – Lance's partner, who had stood by observing until know – quickly moved between them. Bringing his hand to Lance's chest, he whispered, “Don't. Partner, don't. Sara wouldn't want this.”  
  
Hatred twisted Lance's features, but he caught himself. Stepping backward, he brought more space between himself and Oliver. The two men glared at each other. In the end it was Oliver who broke the contact: he turned to the DJ and called, “Where's the music? This a party.”  
  
As the first notes of Avicii's “Levels” rang through the hall and people started dancing again, the policemen turned around and walked back toward the stairs. Felicity looked after them, trying to seem unaffected. But she needed a second to regain her composure. Normally, she was much better with keeping the uncaring character of Felicity Queen in place.  
  
“If you think about it, it really is a strange coincidence,” Tommy said now, turning to Oliver. “I mean, you asking to have your party here, and Hunt getting robbed next door—and by the same guy that apparently saved you from those kidnappers.”  
  
Seriously, what kidnappers?! Felicity was lacking some crucial information here! But she kept from commenting on it. Oliver now took one step toward his best friend and got right into his face. “If I were you, I'd just be happy to be alive.”  
  
A cold shiver raced down Felicity's spine. She had heard many threats in the last five years—none of them had sounded as sincere as this sentence Oliver had practically spat at the man who was supposed to be his best friend.  
  
Tommy sounded as rattled as Felicity felt, asking, “What happened to you on that island?”  
  
“A lot,” was Oliver's only answer.  
  
When the two men didn't stop staring at each other, Felicity cleared her throat. The well-known feeling that she was being stupid while not being able to act any other way captured Felicity as she reached for Oliver's hand. “I think we should call it a night. That's enough partying for one day—and we should get Thea home.”  
  
Slowly, Oliver ripped his eyes away from Tommy. “Thea? Where is she?”  
  
“She left the party as soon as Detective Lance cleared the area,” John Diggle suddenly appeared by their sides. “Mr. and Mrs. Queen, the car is parked out front.”  
  
Right in that moment, Felicity knew that John Diggle was the best bodyguard possible.  
_____________________________

  
Silence filled the car. It was a brooding, slightly uncomfortable one. After two hours of tension and saving face, Felicity couldn't take it anymore. “That party sucked ass. And I'm half-buzzed, which means there's the possibility of a headache that even won't be worth it.” She looked up from her cell phone. “And Thea isn't answering me. What is it with Queens being difficult?”  
  
Oliver turned to look at her.  
  
Felicity huffed. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” She wasn't in the mood for a “welcome to the club”-hint. Her phone buzzed in her hand. “Thank God,” she breathed as she saw that it was a message from Thea, saying she was fine and on her way back home. Was the latter realistic? A seventeen-year-old without real parental supervision going home on a Saturday at eleven o'clock?  
  
John Diggle's voice interrupted her thoughts. “Where to?”  
  
Felicity looked up. She didn't really understand why he would ask. Where else would they go? “Home?” she said.  
  
John met her eyes in the rearview mirror. “By my estimation you haven't eaten anything today, Felicity.”  
  
In her surprised she blinked stupidly. “What?”  
  
“I met you in your office around noon. You haven't eaten since and I thought maybe you'd like to take a pit-stop and grab a bite.”  
  
“That's a good idea,” Oliver agreed and Felicity felt strangely ganged up on.  
  
She was about to object when John said, “Then it's settled,” and turned the car around.  
  


_____________________________________  
  
  


They had to be kidding her! Felicity stared at the red and yellow sign as she stood on the sidewalk. Part of her hated that she had turned into _that_ kind of girl, but the bigger part was shocked they would even suggest this—burgers at almost midnight? If a muffin for lunch didn't mix with Felicity's diet, how should this?  
  
Still, she let Oliver steer her toward the Big Belly Burger with his hand on her lower back.  
  
“Best burgers in Starling,” John declared as he held the door open for her.  
  
She walked past him and was greeted by a very pretty woman standing behind the counter. Felicity tried a small smile, “If you're about to close...”  
  
She let the sentence hanging, but the other woman smiled. “No worries. Johnny said you'd come by.”  
  
Raising an eyebrow she turned around. “Oh, did you, Johnny?”  
  
Ignoring the question, John gestured toward a booth. “Have a seat.”  
  
Holding back a sigh, Felicity did. Oliver slipped into the bench opposite to her. She noticed John and the pretty woman behind the counter talking and couldn't help but wonder if they were together. There was definitely something there, some connection.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Oliver's voice brought her attention back to him. She frowned. “For what?”  
  
“For being there tonight. For worrying about Thea. For being okay with me talking to Laurel.”  
  
She made a dismissive gesture. “Of course, you don't have to thank me for any of that, it's nothing.”  
  
“To me it's something.”  
  
He looked so sincere. It caused a warm feeling to spread through Felicity and a smile to show on her face. They looked into each other's eyes until John Diggle broke the connection by placing two plates in front of them. His friend/possible girlfriend followed and set two glasses down. “Diet Coke,” she explained.  
  
Felicity smiled politely. “Thank you. And thanks for keeping the restaurant open for us.”  
  
“It's no problem,” the woman dismissed. “Friends of Johnny are my friends.”  
  
“Still. Thank you. I'm Felicity, by the way.”  
  
“Oh,” the woman laughed, “I know who you are.” Felicity hated when people did that, but she kept the smile in place as the woman now caught herself. “I'm Carly. Carly Diggle.”  
  
“Oh,” Felicity eyes snapped to Diggle. “Mrs. Diggle.”  
  
John looked at her. “Carly is...” He caught himself, cleared his throat and corrected, “...was my brother's wife.”  
  
Oh. Inwardly, Felicity was hitting herself. That was so typically her, always stepping right in, making things uncomfortable and ending up trying to put her foot in her mouth. “I'm so sorry,” she said, all playfulness leaving her voice. “I'm very sorry for your loss.”  
  
“Thank you,” Carly tried a sad smile. “It's tough, but I guess you know what it's like.”  
  
Felicity's eyes snapped to Oliver, who sat opposite to her, as calm and casual as always. “Yes,” Felicity said slowly. “I guess I do.” She searched for something to say that didn't involve a quip about islands or husbands returning from the dead, because that was seriously bad taste.  
  
Luckily, Carly spared her from having to say anything as she motioned to the food on the table. “Enjoy your meal.”  
  
“Thank you,” Oliver said.  
  
Felicity watched the other couple return to the counter, then she sank back in her seat. “I'm in the really uncomfortable place where I either drank too much or too little. Not that I would have definitely avoided such an uncomfortable situation when being sober, but....” She sighed.  
  
Oliver shook his head, glanced at Diggle and Carly, who were focused on their own conversation again. “You couldn't possibly know.” He reached for one of the plates. “But the way you got the information you wanted out of her...” he nodded appreciatively, “that was nicely done. Very smooth.”  
  
Felicity reached for her drink. “I spent a lot of time with your mother.” She flinched. “I'm sorry, I feel like I'm constantly bad-mouthing her, which probably isn't the best thing to do. Since she's your mother. Of course, you know how difficult she— I don't mean _difficult_ difficult, she's just very opiniona— I can't save this, I'm only making it worse, I'll stop taking in three... two... one.”  
  
Oliver just looked at her. “I'm the guy who's got a new bodyguard because of her. Believe me, I know how opinionated my mother can be.” He pushed a plate in front of Felicity. “Here, eat something.”  
  
Felicity stared down at the plate, at the big burger surrounded by fries. She shook her head. “I won't eat that.”  
  
“Felicity, Diggle has a point. You need to eat.”  
  
“I told you that I haven't had a burger in five years. I was very serious about that.”  
  
“I didn't have a burger in five years either,” his voice was strangely strict. “I'm not saying you should turn this into a habit. I'm just saying that you can have a burger with me to celebrate that we survived the party relatively unharmed.”  
  
A war was raging inside Felicity—and the part of her that worried about calories and snappy comments and skinny jeans (she didn't even wear) lost. “Well, if this is your real ‘yay, I'm not dead'-party, I guess I can hardly say no.” Tentatively, she reached for the burger with both hands. After hesitating another short instant, she dared it and took a huge bite.  
  
It was heaven right there on her tongue. Closing her eyes, she chewed, enjoying the unhealthy but oh so _good_ taste. Slowly she opened her eyes again and met Oliver's slightly amused ones. “Good?” he asked.  
  
She swallowed. “Better. Now you.” She watched as he took a huge bite. He chewed and nodded appreciatively. When his mouth was empty again, he called toward the counter where Diggle and Carly were still talking, “Best burger in town.”  
  
It was unfounded flattery by a person who didn't have a burger in five years, but it was a nice gesture. Felicity lifted her own thumb as she was already chewing on the next bite and saw that Carly looked honestly happy with their reactions. Oliver and Felicity continued to eat in silence. It was a comfortable one, it was nice to sit there with him and eat a burger. It was a quiet, casual moment and Felicity suddenly realized that it had been many, many years since she had such a moment with a man. Her last boyfriend.... He hadn't done casual well. Thinking about the last moment similar to this one transported Felicity all the way back to high school. God, things had been so easy back then.  
  
Chewing on the last bite of his burger, Oliver reached for a napkin to thoroughly clean his hands. He looked at Felicity in a way that grabbed her attention, causing her to look away from her plate and the fry she had just dared to lift up. Their eyes met and the barest smile showed on Oliver's face. “I want to stay married.”  
  
The fry fell from Felicity's hand onto her place. “What?”  
  
The smile vanished from his face instantly. “Does that sound so crazy to you?”  
  
“No!” She flinched. “Yes!” Seriously? That was the succession she ordered her answers in?!  
  
The upward tug of his mouth was back. “Which one is it?”  
  
“That depends on your reason for saying that.” She cleared her suddenly dry throat. “Why do you want to stay married? Is this just some sort of obligation you're feeling? Because you don't owe me anything. And I don't care about keeping up appearances. If you're worried about money, about your trust fund, I just want Firestorm, I don't care about anything else.”  
  
“It's nothing like that.” He said and sat up straighter in his seat. “It was nice to have you by my side tonight.”  
  
Felicity found nothing but sincerity in his features. She dared a smile, because, despite the evening involving some really bad moments, the time that they had actually spent together had been enjoyable—and that was a medium- to large-sized miracle, if you considered the circumstances. “Yes,” she dared to agree, “it's been strangely nice.”  
  
Oliver leaned closer to her, his forearms resting on the table, and spoke more quietly. “I liked having somebody by my side who understands, who knows some of the things that happened. That meant a lot to me.”  
  
She reached for his hand. “Oliver, you have my support—we don't need to be married for that.”  
  
He hesitated before he said, “I told Laurel that I was a married man and that I didn't appreciate her calling you a soulless slut. She backed up instantly. All the girls that would have been all over me at the party, they kept their distance.”  
  
An involuntarily laugh fled from Felicity's lips. “You want to name-drop me to scare women off?”  
  
“No!” He shook his head. “Okay, I made that sound bad. I'm not good with stuff like this.” He cleared his throat. “I need some time to come to terms with myself.”  
  
“After everything you've been through that's not surprising. In fact, I think it would be healthy for you do to that. Instead of pleasing your friends and going to dodgy parties.”  
  
“You say that, because you're the only one who knows what I've been through.”  
  
“No, Oliver, that's just common sense. Plus, you hardly told me anything.”  
  
“You know more than anybody else.” His eyes held a softness she had never seen before when he continued, “You were the only one who could imagine that I could use some time to myself. You have been the only bright light these last few days, the only one who made things easier. I know, I'm not exactly a catch at the moment, and I know it's unfair after all the things you've been through yourself. Kristina said that you were finally in a good place and I don't want to mess with that....” He trailed off and left a lot of blanks for Felicity to fill in.  
  
But it wasn't difficult to do so: he wanted to hole up at her place, far from his mother's reach. He wanted to use her as his safety net, wanted to connect to her, because it was easy; there were already so many things connecting them. She knew all these things, because in the first weeks after she had given birth to Jonas, Felicity had hidden at Kristina's place—and she had only known her for a few weeks then. Who would she be if she didn't repay the favor?  
  
“It's okay, Felicity.” Oliver leaned back in his seat, pulling his hand out from under hers. “You're right, this would be a bad idea.” Apparently, he had misinterpreted her long silence. He added a sad smile. “You know my life's a mess right now. You're right not to get involved in that.”  
  
Felicity's eyes met his. Her voice was calm when she asked, “You told Laurel that you didn't like her calling me a soulless slut?”  
  
A frown darkened his features. “I did. Of course.”  
  
“If we stay married, I expect more of that sticking up for me.”  
  
He smiled. “I will stick up for you, even if we don't stay married.”  
  
Damn him for saying such sentences that made her heart pump a little faster. “Good thing I kept my word and bought a bed for the guest room. It's all yours, if you want it.”  
  
He took an audible breath, heavily through his nose, before he said, “Felicity, you really are remarkable.”  
  
She smirked, remembering this exact exchange they had only yesterday. “Thank you for remarking on it—again.”  
  
“No, thank you.” They shared another moment, silently sitting together, looking each other in the eyes. Until Felicity smiled and said, “Let's go home.”


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I don't think it's too late to wish you all a **Happy New Year**! I wish you the best for 2015! ❤
> 
> Secondly, I cannot thank you enough for the overwhelming response to the previous chapter. I'm still in awe and just very, very happy that you enjoy this story as much as you do. The heartfelt and insightful comments were simply amazing and to know how invested you are in this story blows my mind. I don't have adequate words. All I can do is say THANK YOU and pull you in for the most excessive group huge in cyber space, ever.
> 
> I hope this chapter will answer a few of the most pressing questions. It is – as always – dedicated to **Albiona** —in sickness and in health an amazing beta-reader and friend.

**October 17** **th** **, 2012  
  
** Coming back from the dead was a bureaucratic minefield.  
  
Thank God his mother's lawyers had handled everything. Still, he had to appear in court today to make a statement so that his death-in-absentia judgment would be voided. He felt a nervous tingle in his stomach that he couldn't quite place. In the last week he had been in multiple fights; those had been dangerous, life-threatening moments, but still he had never been this uneasy in any of them.  
  
A small part of him was shocked, but the bigger part knew that it came with the territory. He was good with fighting, he knew what he was doing there. On the other hand, he had absolutely no idea what he was doing every minute he wasn't pulling up the hood and going after people whose names were on the list he had gotten from his father.  
  
Oliver glanced in the mirror, taking in his reflection, the image he was presenting to everybody else. The guy in the designer suit that looked back at him was somebody he didn't recognize. He was a stranger who had nothing to do with the reality he was living. He was an appearance that didn't match the inner workings of his mind. Because his mind was filled with revenge and anger and painful memories. He reached for his jacket and straightened it out. He took another deep breath to steady and steel himself for what he knew what was coming, and wouldn't be pleasant.  
  
His steps echoing a strength he wasn't feeling, he walked down to what Felicity called the main room. Felicity stood behind the kitchen counter and greeted him with a smile. “Good morning. Coffee?”  
  
Oliver walked toward her. “Yes, thank you.”  
  
He took a mug out of the cupboard and held it out for her to fill. While she did that he let his eyes glide over her. She was wearing another dress, black dots on white ground. It was hugging her figure but it was perfectly modest for going to court with him. He again took note on how pretty she looked.  
  
“Thank you for coming with me,” he said and meant it.  
  
Since he had moved into her guest room five days ago, she had been nothing but awesome. Not once had she asked him why he went out every night after she went to bed—and he was sure that she had noticed. They had run into each other last night after he came back from confronting Markus Redman, after he had pushed this man's face so close to a quickly rotating fan that only inches had stood between him and a very ugly, very big scar. But she had said nothing but “good night.”  
  
When he had asked her to keep their marriage going, he had hoped that it would be so easy. During his welcome home bash he had realized that Felicity indeed was the perfect distraction. He had been gone for nearly thirty minutes, but nobody had noticed, because Felicity and his sister had danced.  
  
But that, her usefulness, wasn't the only reason he wanted to stay married. He had to admit that it felt good to have somebody by his side, on his side. He also felt a certain connection between them. As soon as Felicity had stepped out of the car and onto the red carpet, he had noticed the subtle changes. The woman facing the paparazzi with him wasn't the woman he had dinner with the previous evening, not the woman who didn't have her tongue under control, who had suffered an unspeakable loss, not the woman who was compassionate and insightful. That woman joining him on the red carpet had been all act, all poise and control, and right in that moment Oliver had felt like he had found a soulmate.  
  
It was the most twisted version of a soulmate possible, but it still stirred something inside Oliver. And as he now looked at her, he couldn't help but realize that he really cared about her, that he really enjoyed being with her—for far more reasons than the fact that it was easy, comfortable, and strategically beneficial.  
  
Felicity smiled up at him. “Of course. Nowhere else I'd want to be today.” She put the coffee pot back into the coffeemaker. “I do hope they resurrect you quickly, though, I have an important meeting at one.”  
  
Her eyes snapped to him, and Oliver knew that she was about to apologize for her wording. He stopped her from doing so by speaking up first. “I hope so, too. Shouldn't take four hours to confirm that I'm alive, should it?”  
  
Felicity eyes slid over him. “No,” she said, “it shouldn't.” She took a sip of her coffee and headed toward the dining table, where her ritual newspaper was waiting for her. Oliver sat the mug down and opened the cupboard where he knew the bowls were stored. As he prepared his morning cereal he again noticed that Felicity didn't eat anything. He had rarely seen her eat in the five days they were living together. He hadn't dared to mention it to her yet. He looked at her as she sat by the kitchen table with nothing but her newspaper and her coffee. He lifted the box in his hand and asked, “Do you want some cereal, too?”  
  
Startled, her eyes left the article she was reading. “What?”  
  
He waved the box and repeated, “Cereal?”  
  
“No, thank you,” she answered and instantly went back to her reading.  
  
Part of Oliver wanted to insist, inquire on the topic, but the bigger part knew that he wasn't good with stuff like that and he knew that it was easier to back off. So he just filled his bowl and sat down opposite Felicity. Like every morning, she found the sports section of the paper first and like every morning in the last five days she pushed it over to him.  
  
They spent the next ten minutes in silence. Oliver reveled in the quiet that surrounded them, in the fact that they could sit there, not saying anything and just being.  
  
He had emptied his bowl of cereal and his mug of coffee when he brought Felicity's attention back to him. “My lawyer took care of our marriage.”  
  
Her eyes left the printed words and settled on him. She frowned. “What do you mean?”  
  
“I told you that, since the annulment was pending when I disappeared, the judge would bring that up during my proof-of-life-hearing?” She nodded affirmation. “My lawyer already.... I don't know the term, he annulled the annulment, I guess. It won't be brought up today.”  
  
She smiled, relieved. “That's good.”  
  
Yes, it was. He tried to match her smile, but he knew that his could never be as beautiful as hers. “Thank you—”  
  
“Oliver,” she cut him off right there, “every morning the same thing. Please, stop it. You don't have to thank me. I like doing this for you. I am comfortable doing this for you. You're like a very tidy roommate who's barely there and pays the rent on time. And – spoiler alert – that's the best kind.”  
  
He smirked at her. “Understood.” He was about to say more, when the landline rang. Getting up from his seat, he answered the phone and was greeted by the concierge telling him that a Tommy Merlyn wanted to see him. Oliver looked at Felicity. “It's Tommy.”  
  
For a long moment she just stared at him before she slowly nodded. “He's your friend. Of course, he can come up. But he better behave or I'll kick him out.”  
  
Oliver nodded. “Don't worry, if necessary, I'll do the kicking.” He brought the receiver back to his mouth. “Send him up.”  
  
A few minutes later, Oliver waited by the door and his best friend stepped out of the elevator. “Tommy, I didn't expect you.”  
  
“My best friend is getting legally resurrected, where else would I be?!” The two men hugged and Oliver gestured for Tommy to enter.  
  
“Our bodyguard will be here in five minutes,” Oliver said.  
  
“I heard your mother nearly fired him after you ditched him a few days ago.”  
  
Tommy sounded amused. Oliver just shrugged, because he didn't know what to say. It was the truth and Felicity had given him an earful for it, reminding him that Digg was a good guy and only doing his job. Damn her for appealing to his conscience. Damn his conscience for actually spawning a little guilt.  
  
The men now stepped into the main room, where Felicity was busy putting their used dishes into the dish washer. “Felicity,” Tommy greeted.  
  
Felicity looked up and slowly nodded. “Tommy. It's nice of you to come and support Oliver.”  
  
“Are you kidding me?” Tommy smirked, “I went to court with Ollie every time—which was four times by my estimate. There was the DUI, the assault on that paparazzo douchebag, stealing that taxi – which was just awesome – and who could forget peeing on the cop?”  
  
“You stole a taxi?” Felicity frowned. “You know they take you anywhere you want to go, right?”  
  
Tommy looked at her. “Honestly? Out of all the misdemeanors I just listed, you ask about that one?!”  
  
“Is peeing on a cop car a misdemeanor?” Felicity seemed honestly interested. “Because I can tell you, if anybody peed on me that would be a felony.”  
  
“Good to know that doesn't turn you on....” Tommy smirked.  
  
Felicity crossed her arms over her chest. Oliver knew that she would say something to that, but he really wasn't in the mood for the argument. Thank God the doorbell rang. Diggle was there and it was time to go to court.

___________________________________  


Being alive meant nerves. And Oliver felt his nerves as he stood in the court room. The rows behind him where filled to the last spot. His mother, Walter, Felicity, and Tommy sat in the front row, but everybody else was just here, because they were curious and in search of gossip. Oliver guessed it was one of those “I was there” moments. The mass amount of press and paparazzi outside had shown him clearly that people were interested in his return from the dead.  
  
Oliver had thought about what he'd say. He had practiced his very short speech in front of Felicity last night, who had said that it was perfect. He tried to remember her supportive smile as he looked at the judge sitting a little elevated on the bench. He pulled himself together and said, just like he had practiced, “There was a storm. The boat went down. I was the only survivor. My father didn't make it. I almost died; I thought I had, because I spent so many days on that life raft before I saw land. And when I reached it, I knew....” His voice hitched in his throat and he hated it. He started anew, “I knew that I was going to have to live for the both of us. In those five years, it was the one thought that kept me going.”  
  
His lawyer rose and stood next to Oliver. “Your honor, we move to vitiate the death-in-absentia filed after Oliver's disappearance at sea aboard _The Queen's Gambit_ five years ago. Unfortunately, we will not be requesting that the declaration of death filed for the petitioner's father, Robert Queen, be rescinded. The Queen family is only entitled to one miracle, I'm afraid.”  
  
The judge’s green eyes under white bushy eyebrows took Oliver in carefully. “The death-in-absentia will be vitiated,” he said. Then, in a deep voice and to everybody's surprise, he added, “I see there is another matter, a marriage annulment filed five years ago.”  
  
Again the lawyer spoke up, “I thought that matter was settled, your honor. Mr. Queen has no desire to annul the marriage.”  
  
“Yes, counselor, you informed me about that, but I have to make sure that Mrs. Queen doesn't have this desire either, since both parties requested an annulment and not just your client.” Oliver saw the green eyes move past him and he knew who they settled on. “Mrs. Queen,” the judge said, “do you wish to stay married to Oliver Queen?”  
  
Oliver could hear her get up; it was the only sound audible in the room. It felt like the walls around them were bowing in from the collectively held breath. At first Oliver stared ahead, but then he thought about what this must look like to everybody else and he turned around to see Felicity stand there, her hands on the balustrade separating the seats for the spectators from the front. She held her head up high and her voice was strong as she said, “Yes, your honor. That's my wish.”  
  
“Are you sure?” the judge asked.  
  
Felicity looked at him in surprise. “Why?” she said then. “Do you have a better offer?”  
  
Oliver couldn't help but smirk at her—and also at the completely baffled face Tommy made while his mother looked like she had just bitten into a lemon. He caught himself quickly and said, “I honestly doubt that.”  
  
Felicity's eyes met his and he saw the teasing as she shrugged, “Can't blame a girl for trying.” With that she sat back down. She had managed to ease up an awfully tense situation. They had been their cocky public personas and this right here was the perfect proof why staying with her for now was the most logical choice.  
  
He turned back to the judge, who nodded. “The request for annulment is withdrawn.” He glanced at a paper in front of him. “That leaves us one last matter: the acknowledgement of paternity.”  
  
The lightened mood vanished instantly. This time he instantly turned around to look at Felicity and he saw that her cool had slipped for a second. Yes, nobody had ever mentioned this might come up. They weren't prepared. The judge seemed unfazed and continued talking, “Oliver Jonas Queen, you are listed as the father of Jonas Henry Queen, stillborn on March 15, 2008. Do you acknowledge paternity?” Oliver saw that his mother reached for Felicity's hand and squeezed hard. The gesture meant a lot to Oliver. His eyes were still on Felicity and she now met his gaze. Their eyes were connected when he said, “Yes. I do.”  
  
And then it was done. He was legally alive, married, and father to a dead son.

_______________________________  
 

Even without Felicity the tension in the car was still thick.  
  
They had dropped her off at her company in Orchid Bay, a part of Starling City that was lacking high skyscrapers. Other than the Glades, which had descended into the bad part of town in the worst way possible, Orchid Bay had turned into the artsy neighborhood of the city, into the place the trendy single people wanted to live and spray their streetart onto the walls.  
  
The headquarters of Firestorm, Inc. was a three story brick building. When Diggle stopped the Bentley in front of it, Oliver couldn't help but think that it was perfectly Felicity.  
  
There had been so many things Oliver had wanted to say to her, but somehow the knowledge of Tommy sitting next to him had held him back. He had resorted to the simple question of, “Are you okay?”  
  
She had looked at him shortly before she had nodded. “That was as uncomfortable as expected, but, yeah, I'm good. You?”  
  
“As good as can be expected.” Diggle had opened the door of the car for her right then and Oliver had ended with a “See you later.”  
  
“Yes, you will.” She had sent Tommy a short glance, had added a “Bye, Tommy,” and had gotten out of the car.  
  
Since then, Tommy and Oliver sat next to each other in the backseat, saying nothing. Oliver knew that Diggle was driving around aimlessly. “Digg, how about another stop at Big Belly Burger?” He looked at Tommy. “Are you in the mood for the best burger in town?”  
  
Tommy looked at him, not answering the question, but asking one of his own, “You want to stay married? Really?”  
  
Oliver sighed. “Tommy, don't.”  
  
“Why? And remember that you're talking to me here. I was there when you married her and I know very well that everything your mother said was a bunch of bullshit!”  
  
“It just feels right.”  
  
“I admit that the picture of the rumpled bed looked like a good night, but she didn't even kiss you good-bye just now. Do you really want a trophy wife?”  
  
“No, Tommy,” Oliver's voice was turning harder. “What I really want is one person in my life that's actually okay with the way I am now.”  
  
Shocked, Tommy stared at him. “I'm okay with the way you are. I'm just glad that you’re back.”  
  
“NO.” Oliver realized that he was getting loud and caught himself quickly, continuing more quietly, “You want your old drinking buddy back, but that guy is gone. He drowned five years ago.”  
  
“You're making a mistake.” Tommy said, fighting for calm himself. “Attaching yourself to that woman is a mistake. She's not a nice person. She hurt Laurel with all those lies. Laurel, Ollie. Your Laurel!”  
  
“You don't know Felicity and I'm not having this discussion with you!”  
  
“Tell me, buddy. When you ended up on that island, who did you think of—Laurel or your drunken mistake?”  
  
Oliver stared at the other man and had to admit, to himself of course, that Tommy had a point. During his first year on Lian Yu, Laurel had been his lifeline. He had stared at her picture, he had dreamt of her and wished he could be with her. The wish to go back to her and make up for his mistakes had been overwhelming. But that had stopped. It had stopped when he had turned to Shado, when Sara had suddenly turned out to be alive, when he had seen past all the guilt that weighed him down. Because he did feel guilty for how he had treated Laurel, for what he had done to her. Because the right thing would have been to break up with her one year before his trip on the _Gambit_ . He cared about Laurel, she was his first love, but he had fallen out of love with her long before he had said yes to Felicity. He had just never dared to admit it. And – yes – he had thought about Felicity in the last five years. He hadn't been on the island then and it had only been once, but he had never completely forgotten about her.  
  
But he couldn't tell Tommy this, he didn't trust Tommy enough to tell him—and that was a very hurtful realization. It was so painful that Oliver felt the need to end this topic. “No, you tell me, Tommy. Tell me why you're pushing Laurel on me when we both know that you're fucking her!”  
  
That did the trick. Tommy's face fell instantly. His expression told Oliver everything he needed to know. His suspicion was proven by the guilt in Tommy's eyes, and it was confirmed further by the way he squirmed in his seat. “Who told you?” Tommy asked, his voice laced with disbelieve.  
  
The unease visible on his friend's face calmed Oliver, too. “Nobody. It was fairly obvious that something's going on between you two when we met her in the Glades, and at my party.”  
  
“I'm sorry, bu—”  
  
“Don't, Tommy. It's okay. I was dead and you two hooked up. That's fine with me. I'm married to another, remember?”  
  
Tommy stared at him for a very long moment before he shook his head. “I wanted to tell you about Laurel and me. I just didn't find the right time or the right way.... She was your girlfriend and being with her violates our friendship in about fifty different ways.”  
  
Oliver sighed. “Tommy, I was dead. That's the most definite form of break-up there is.” Suddenly, the exact words his friend had used sank in, and it caused Oliver to frown and consider the last spoken sentence again. Tommy had used the present tense. That could only mean one thing, “You're still seeing her? Are you together?”  
  
“We're engaged.”  
  
“You'r—” Oliver couldn't help but blink, because just like that he felt like he had lost control over the conversation. Because he had expected a lot, but that was unexpected.  
  
“Yes,” Tommy's voice was awfully small. “I proposed a few days before you returned.”  
  
The first thing that entered Oliver's brain was that that was the epitome of suck-y timing. For Tommy. The poor guy. Oliver had a pretty good idea what he was going through, how he was torn between his loyalties toward the woman he wanted to marry and the man who had been like a brother to him all his life.  
  
“I understand that you're mad,” Tommy hurried to say, “you have every right to be. I should have told you sooner, I should have told you instantly. Because, if you still love Laurel I will—”  
  
“No,” Oliver shook his head. “Tommy, no. I just didn't expect it, that's all. I mean, you—engaged.” In an attempt to lighten the mood, he said, “It's like I returned to a twilight zone.”  
  
“Says Oliver Queen, married man!” Tommy smirked. “Now, if that doesn't sound like it should be against nature, I don't know what is.”  
  
Oliver chuckled. “Good point. When did we grow up?”  
  
Tommy looked serious. “I'd say five years ago.”  
  
The teasing leaving his features, Oliver nodded.  
  
Tommy sighed. “I really thought Quee— Felicity had told you. I'm sorry, I never knew how to bring it up. I know that Laurel was yours. I don't know how it happened. Her and I, we bonded over losing you. Over being angry at Que— Felicity. And suddenly I'm sitting in Quentin Lance's living room, asking for his blessing.”  
  
“Wow,” Oliver looked at his friend. “You're a brave man. He didn't seem too pleased with you at the party last week.”  
  
“It's... difficult. We're both trying for Laurel's sake.” Tommy finally dared to look his friend in the eyes. “That's why I was pushing and why I needed you two to talk at the party. I needed to know that there was nothing... left between you. Because if there is I’ll—”  
  
Oliver cut his friend off yet again, needing the other man to finally believe what he had told him before. “There is nothing left between Laurel and me.” Oliver said, his voice strong. “I was never good for her, I never made her happy. Believe me, I have no desire to reheat something that was cold years ago.” The relief that radiated off his friend was visible. Oliver couldn't help but smile. He brought his hand to his friend's shoulder. “Congratulations, buddy. I'm really happy for you.”  
  
Tommy smiled—a wide and relieved smile that was an amazing sight. “Thank you. Really, thank you. I don't know how I'll do it yet, but I'll manage to talk Laurel into inviting you to our wedding. You and Qu— Felicity.”  
  
“I sense that's going to be hard work,” Oliver's hand left his friend's shoulder again, “and not only because you're constantly swallowing a bad nickname you two obviously have for her.”  
  
“You told Laurel that we're supposed to stop bad-mouthing your wife.” Tommy laughed. “Boy, she was pissed, let me tell you.”  
  
“Laurel has every right to be mad at me. I am to blame for many things. But you and I both know that nothing that happened is Felicity's fault.”  
  
“Yes, I know. But you need to understand: After the _Gambit_ sank Laurel was a wreck. She was so angry at Sara and at you that she couldn't grieve. But at the same time, she was so devastated that she lost Sara and you. She was hurting and there didn't seem to be a way for her to get better. Back then it seemed healthy to turn her anger at a stranger. I knew that your mother's interview was a load of bullshit, and I never believed the whole pregnancy thing....” Tommy hesitated for a short moment. To Oliver it seemed as if he was collecting his courage when he dared to ask, “Do you really want to be with her?” Seeing the look crossing his friend's face, Tommy held his hands up in a calming gesture. “I honestly want to know. Is this some kind of PTSD-thing?”  
  
Taking a deep breath, Oliver said, “No, I told you: I want to see what she and I could be. I know people think the worst of her, but she's not like that.”  
  
Silence settled between them, until Tommy, slowly, nodded. “Stillborn, huh?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
More silence followed. Then Tommy's small voice. “I'm sorry.” Oliver just nodded wordlessly. Tommy sat up a little straighter in his seat. “I know it's not the right time to do this, but there's another thing I wanted to talk to you about and I've been pushing it back for days.”  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“Ever since we stopped at your father's old factory I had this idea.... Ollie, how do you feel about opening up a club with me?”

______________________________

Resurrecting your husband should be the weirdest part of the day. What did it say about Felicity's life that it wasn't? What did it say about Felicity’s life that a meeting with the man, who was technically her father-in-law, freaked her out even more?  
  
Carefully, Felicity took the man opposite her in. Walter Steele looked so very tired as he sat in her office, lines caused by worry visible all over his face. Now that Felicity really looked at him, the always thin English man looked even thinner. She really liked Walter, she cared for him a lot. He was a good man, he had helped her a lot, had encouraged her. And she knew that she had to repay the favor, she wanted to repay the favor, but what he was asking of her seemed too weird. “You want me to check Moira’s accounts?”  
  
“And the accounts of Queen Consolidated she has access to.”  
  
“That would be most of them.”  
  
“That is correct.”  
  
Felicity’s face was serious, her voice was soft and quiet. Even though her office door was closed – she was really turning that into a habit lately – she didn’t want anybody to hear what she would say next, “You think that Moira embezzled money?”  
  
“That is your conclusion.”  
  
“It’s the only logical one from what you told me.” Felicity took a deep breath. “2.6 million dollars? That’s a shi—” You couldn’t swear around Walter Steele, you – or, rather, Felicity – really couldn’t. “A lot of money.” And nobody at QC missed it. Walter had told her that he had stumbled across it by accident. That said so much about how much money the Queen-Steeles had—but also about how their company was led.  
  
“I know your capabilities, Felicity.” Walter said now. “I need you to discreetly dig around. I am aware that it puts you in a delicate position, especially regarding Oliver’s very recent return. But I would like to keep it within the family. And I trust you completely, Felicity.”  
  
“Of course,” Felicity sighed. “Don’t worry, I will be discreet. You know discretion is my middle name.” She frowned. “Actually—”  
  
Walter smiled. “It’s Megan, I know. You always mention that in these particular moments.” Walter rose from his chair. “Thank you, Felicity. I appreciate your help. And thank you for agreeing to go to the _Unidac_ auction next week. I wish I could attend personally, but the conference in Australia has been scheduled for months. I know the bidding will be in good hands with you.”  
  
This man had always been her mentor, her very dignified cheerleader. There was no way in hell that Felicity would let him down.

________________________________

  
There was such a thing as being too thorough. Felicity knew, because she was exactly that. She was too thorough and too good at thoroughly combing through other people's data. She wished she could just overlook all of the numbers popping up where they didn't belong, but she couldn't.  
  
By trying not to let Walter down, she had gone down the rabbit hole and found the evil Queen of Hearts. Wow, Felicity realized that analogy was kind of fitting.  
  
But, seriously, it was so much worse than she had anticipated. If the data she had dug up was correct, Moira Queen hadn’t embezzled money. She had laundered it.  
  
It was the only logical explanation. Why else would she invest in a company that didn’t exist? Oh, the fake website was done masterfully. The only mistake they had made was taking a picture of Ben Warren and turning him into their CEO. He might be a minor character on _Grey’s Anatomy_ , but Kristina and Felicity had watched that show together for years, and Felicity had a very soft spot for that hunk of a boyfriend of Dr. Miranda Bailey.  
  
It was a mistake that had spiked Felicity’s interest. Four hours ago. She hadn’t even noticed time passing as she had hacked various servers as well as networks and datamined her way through the darknet only to end up with the distinct feeling that Walter really wouldn’t like what she had found. She was about to end her search when she noticed a definite slowing of her laptop. It caused a cold shiver to run through her. Because other people might not notice something like that, they might brush it off as nothing, but Felicity knew what each minor thing a computer meant and the meaning of this exact thing was a worst-case scenario: somebody had piggy-backed her, somebody was scooping through her files. How the hell had he managed that? How they hell had he breached her firewall? If she was serious about one thing it was the protection of her data—at Firestorm and at home, where she sat with her laptop at the dining room table.  
  
Felicity’s fingers flew over the keyboard, but she couldn’t shut the intruder out, couldn’t stop him from scooping through her files. There was only one thing she could do. She reached for the glass of diet coke that had lost all sparkle in the last hours she had worked, and poured it over her laptop. The poor beautiful thing sparked one last time and then it went dead with smoke billowing up from the keyboard.  
  
“Fucking shit,” Felicity cursed under her breath as she sank back in her seat.  
  
“Why did you do that?”  
  
Startled, Felicity shot up again only to find Oliver standing on the other side of the table. She had been so lost in her work that she hadn’t noticed him returning from another nightly trip. That's what she had come to call them: trips. She couldn't bring herself to think of them as anything else, because she didn’t know how she felt about the kind of trips he was most likely taking.  
  
For a second Felicity contemplated telling him that she was a klutz and lamenting the death of her laptop, but then she decided not to insult his intelligence. “Somebody was hacking into our network and I couldn’t stop him.”  
  
Oliver blinked, obviously surprised. “We were hacked? Why?”  
  
She looked at him. “I—” she started, but trailed off. That seemed to spike his interest. He tipped his head to the side, watching her while she searched for words. But she was too aggravated and shaken by what had just happened to come up with a good lie. “Okay, so, I started the hacking, but nobody was supposed to notice. And they most definitely weren't supposed to follow me home. I mean, this is home, we're supposed to be safe were. He got past my firewall—and that shouldn't happen. I am very serious about protection.” She hesitated. “When it comes to technology.... Okay, and sex. I really learned from our little fiasco. Not that I'd have had a—”  
  
“Felicity,” his voice was soft as he cut her off. “Relax, take a deep breath.”  
  
Realizing that her ramble had maybe gotten her a little off-topic, she did take a deep breath, but it didn't help to calm her. “I cannot relax, because this is the worst possible thing that could have happened. He followed me home. He might have figured out who I am, who we are.”  
  
He looked at her, and Felicity couldn't help but be impressed by how calm he was. He probably didn't understand the dimension of what she was telling him here, Felicity reasoned.  
  
“Is there a way for you to know for certain, if he knows who you are?” Oliver asked.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Can you figure out who he was?”  
  
“Probably not.”  
  
“Then I think you can only wait and see.”  
  
“Great,” she huffed, sarcastically. “Exactly what I need.”  
  
His eyes were glued to her as he asked, “What were you hacking anyway? I had no idea you were a hacker.”  
  
Instantly, Felicity felt caught. She couldn't tell him about her suspicions, couldn't tell him what she thought his mother was involved in. She needed definite proof, before she unloaded that onto him. The poor man had enough to deal with already. Maybe this one thing would be the one too many, the one to break him. “Oh,” she said dismissively. “I did a friend a favor. It was nothing.” She didn't know why, but she felt the need to add, “Normally, I'm a really good hacker, you know. It's really difficult to get past me. Wow, that sounds like a brag, really awful—”  
  
“Felicity, is there anything you could do apart from drowning your laptop in Diet Coke?”  
  
Slowly, she shook her head. “Nothing apart from cursing myself for being so stupid to do this from home.”  
  
He looked at her and she really liked the soft expression on his face. “Then I think we should both call it a night. It's past three in the morning. You know, if anything happens, I'm right down the hall.”  
  
The last sentence was a strange thing for him to say. Why was that supposed to calm her?  
  
Strangely, it did.


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm repeating myself and I feel like I should be more creative than that, but the simple fact is: your awesomeness is leaving me speechless. I'm really at a loss for words (at least when it comes to creative author's comments, luckily not with regard to chapter writing) and so I'll go with a simple and honest and whole-hearted: THANK YOU for everything, the kudos and especially the comments. Reading the wonderful, encouraging, insightful, and funny remarks is a treat. 
> 
> All my love to Albiona, amazing friend, awesome beta.
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy this chapter, too. ❤

**October 18** **th** **, 2012  
  
** Once again he was faced with something that didn't quite live up to his memories. Since he had stepped out of the elevator and onto Queen Consolidated's executive floor, he had tried to bring the past and the present together and failed. Everything had changed, beginning with the layout and the placement of the office and continuing with the furnishing. The design was colder, darker, more sterile. Grey, black, chrome, and glass dominated the interior where red and green and wood had been before. It might have been old-fashioned, but Oliver had always liked that atmosphere. He seriously wondered who wanted to work in an office when three out of four of its walls were made of glass. He felt like he was standing in a giant aquarium for people to get a good look at him—and he noticed that the secretary sitting on the other side of the glass wall took thorough advantage of that.  
  
“As you can see, we have modernized.” His mother said, sounding pleased.  
  
Wordlessly, Oliver resumed his perusal. Being here brought back memories, memories of his father that had been long forgotten. Back when his father had just been “dad”, when he had let Oliver drink soda in the office—it was their shared secret from his mother. Oliver had come here and driven his remote-controlled race-car in the long halls. And there had been Mrs. Abernathy, his father's secretary, who had always given him chocolate. Those had been simpler times. He looked at the desk that was empty and spotless and he knew why his mother and Walter had brought him up here.  
  
“Queen Consolidated's success of late is a result of its targeted diversification.” Walter Steele's voice ripped Oliver out of his reminiscences. Slowly he turned around, put his back to the desk he had been staring at, and faced his mother and her husband, who now continued, “We have been making impressive inroads in cutting-edge fields like bio-tech and clean energy.”  
  
Oliver tried to imagine himself behind that desk, in the spot where his father had always been. He couldn't. Because no matter how fond Oliver's memories of this office were, they didn't show the real past, the things that had really happened, the way his father had orchestrated other people's life from behind that desk. It was a position Oliver never wanted to take. Being part of that would be going against everything he had come back to do.  
  
But those were things he couldn't tell his mother – or her new husband, for that matter. He couldn't admit to them how much he hated the corporate image and everything it represented, because both of them were part of the representation.  
  
Slipping an uncaring, casual coat on, he smirked and said, “That's neat.” It was a stupid statement, but that was what Oliver was going for: stupid and careless, aka Ollie Queen in the year of 2006.  
  
Walter didn't exactly manage to keep his face even. He was obviously not impressed with his stepson. Oliver couldn't really blame him, but he also couldn't bring himself to care what that man thought of him.  
  
Walter cleared his throat. “Oliver, since you expressed interest in this company right after your return, I am sure you will like our suggestion.”  
  
No, he wouldn't. He knew that he really, really wouldn't.  
  
“The company is about to break ground for a new applied sciences division,” Walter continued. “We would like to honor your father by dedicating the building in his name.”  
  
What an empty gesture. Oliver nodded in fake appreciation. “Nice!” he said and took the opportunity to add, “I have great news, too. Tommy and I will open a club.”  
  
Moira and Walter gawked at him. And Ditzy-Ollie nodded. “I know. Awesome, right?!”  
  
“Are you serious?” His mother's voice made it clear that she believed he couldn't possibly be.  
  
“Sure. Tommy asked me and I think it's an amazing idea. My name and his attached to a club—people will come from all around the country to party with us.”  
  
“Oliver, you said that you wanted to be a different person.”  
  
“I am, mom. I'm starting my own business. If that isn't taking responsibility, I don't know what is.”  
  
“Queen Consolidated is your business. It's the family business and we need you to take a leadership position in this company.”  
  
“I don't want to lead anything.”  
  
“No, you want to fall into old habits.” Moira threw her hands up. “What does your wife say about this?”  
  
Oliver stared. Wow, his mother played the wife-card! She must really be desperate. It was a little ironic, since Oliver was one hundred percent sure that Felicity would be supportive, as soon as she heard how much his mother hated the idea. But he kept from telling the woman opposite to him that. Instead he said, his voice and face hard, “I haven't told her yet.”  
  
“Maybe you should do that. Because that's what marriage is about: making decisions together.” His mother was such a lousy hypocrite. It was a hurtful thought that Oliver felt slightly guilty about. Still, he couldn't help but think exactly that as his mother went on, “You can say what you want about Felicity, but she is a business woman. She is invested in the family business that you are rebuking.” She looked at him with strict eyes. “You are Robert Queen's son.”  
  
A cold shiver raced down Oliver's spine. That sentence came with so much baggage, with so much pressure, with a guilty conscious, because there were times when Oliver wished he could be somebody, anybody else's son. The careless facade had already slipped, but it imploded right in that second as he practically spat, “I don't need to be reminded of that!”  
  
His mother seemed unfazed by the aggression in his voice. “Well, obviously you do.”  
  
“And obviously you need to be reminded of the fact that I didn't get my MBA while I was on the island.”  
  
“We have a trainee—”  
  
“No,” Oliver shook his head. “I'm not interested. I won't do it.”  
  
“Oliver, you have a responsibility to your family, to your family name—a name that you distributed quite freely, I might add, while I was left to pick up the pieces and try to save face.”  
  
“Fuck saving face!” The words left Oliver's lips before he could stop them. And there was more he needed to say, “I haven’t come back to replace Robert Queen. I want no part in that man's legacy!”  
  
His mother stared at him as if he had slapped her. Then she straightened up and he could see her collect all her poise and dignity. “Five years ago your irresponsibility might have been somewhat charming. It's much less so now.” She sent him one last steely glance, and stepped to the side. It was the signal that that conversation was over, that she had nothing left to say to him. For once Oliver completely agreed; there was nothing left to say.  
  
Wordlessly, he brushed past his mother, followed by John Diggle. Wordlessly, the two men waited for the elevator. Wordlessly, they entered the cabin, rode down twenty-seven floors, crossed the hall, and left the building. As soon as he did, flashes washed over Oliver. People with cameras and microphones crowded around him, shouting questions at him, asking about the island, about Felicity, about... abortion. Hearing the last statement, he shot around to face the guy who had dared to ask that, ready to bring his fist against an unsuspecting nose.  
  
But Diggle was faster. He stepped in front of Oliver. “Step back!” Diggle ordered and pushed the guy that Oliver had been about to assault. Diggle kept his body between Oliver and the reporters while he cleared the way. “Step back before I make you swallow that Nikon!”  
  
His heart was still beating heavily when Oliver slid into the backseat of the Bentley. He slid so that Diggle could get in next to him, a habit the bodyguard had taken up since Oliver had jumped out of the car. Oliver just stared ahead, trying to seem unfazed by the reporters surrounding the car.  
  
“The driver should be here any second,” Diggle stated.  
  
Oliver just nodded. He still didn't feel like talking; he had lost his cool up there with his mother and he had nearly lost his cool with that reporter. He was supposed to have moved way past that, past being so easy to agitate. He hated that he clearly wasn't.  
  
John Diggle's calm voice ripped him out of his thoughts. “You know, I spent the first twenty-seven years of my life in Starling City and the next five in Afghanistan. You want to know what I learned?”  
  
Oliver stared ahead, as he said what he was sure would be the pun of this little speech, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “There's no place like home?”  
  
“No,” the bodyguard huffed, “just the opposite. Home is a battlefield. Back home, they're all trying to get you. Get you to open up, be somebody you're not sure you are anymore.” Oliver felt knowing and searching eyes on him, but he couldn't meet them. He just stared ahead as Diggle continued, “Or I could be wrong. Maybe after five years alone, you're not as messed up in the head as you have every right to be.”  
  
For a few seconds they sat there in silence, looking ahead, while Oliver tried to decide how he felt about the undeniable truth of that sentence. He was messed up; he knew he was. But he was the best version of himself he could be right now and he had a purpose and he needed to focus and he needed to reclaim his cool.  
  
The sound of the driver's door slamming shut ended that moment of contemplation. “Where to?” the driver asked from the front.  
  
“Felicity.” Strangely that was the first name that came to Oliver's mind. Slowly, he moved his eyes to meet the driver's in the rear-view mirror as he said the first completely honest and true thing of that day. “I need to see my wife.”  
  


_______________________________  
  
Technically, Yongtak was insubordinate. In reality, Yongtak was absolutely right.  
  
“You are way too smart to be so fucking stupid.”  
  
It was the truth. Felicity had nothing to say to defend herself. “It was just supposed to be a little fact-gathering. It wasn't supposed to end with that.”  
  
The skinny man with the perfectly styled hair looked at her through his huge round glasses. “What kind of facts were you gathering that it ended with that?”  
  
Felicity had been pacing in front of her number one's desk, but now she stopped and looked at the young man sitting and watching her. “I can't tell you that.”  
  
“Fe,” he got up from his seat and walked around the desk. “I get that you weren't expecting it to go so far. But hacking from your home-IP, letting somebody piggy-back you....”  
  
“I know....” Felicity sighed. “I _know_ , Tak. I was distracted, the stuff I gathered threw me off. It was such a rookie mistake.”  
  
“See, that's what I don't believe. And you don't either, because you don't do rookie mistakes, you don't get that distracted.” He looked at her with serious eyes. “And you _know_ that. How did you figure out somebody was in your system?”  
  
“It was a little fuzzy. The keys didn't react instantly.”  
  
“Fuck!” Yongtak brought his hand to his lips, his index finger and his thumb tugged his lower lip twice before he dimly shook his head. “That's basically nothing. You know that nine out of ten people wouldn't have noticed that. You know what that means....”  
  
“Yes.” Worry was darkening her face. “I was so hoping you'd come to another conclusion.” But there just wasn't another conclusion: whoever had managed to get past her firewall last night was really, really good. This worried Felicity more than anything. It also made her wonder what exactly Moira had gotten herself into, because all of this involved a level of professionalism that nobody in the QC IT-department had. Some serious skills were needed to pull off what had happened last night and it had caused Felicity to spend hours tossing, turning, and freaking in her bed.  
  
“Did you bring the laptop?”  
  
“Yes, it's in my office.”  
  
Yongtak was already moving toward the door of his office. “If there's a trace of him left, I'll find it,” he promised and had just opened the door when he stopped dead in his tracks, because he nearly crashed into Jerry.  
  
“Felicity,” Jerry said, “your husband's here.”  
  
With that statement he turned around and Felicity's eyes moved to where he motioned. And, really, there Oliver came into view as he crested the wide stairs from the ground floor that housed reception, and meeting and break rooms. She realized that the whole coding department, which occupied the second floor, had the perfect view on him—and that indeed all eyes were on him. Yongtak as lead coder had the only office on the floor; the other desks were sharing the huge loft-like room. The birch wood tables with the huge screens on top were placed in groups according to the coding teams. A statue of Lulu (Final Fantasy X's coolest character, if you asked the Firestorm-coders, their boss Yongtak, and his boss Felicity) that was taller than Felicity was towering in the middle. At the moment Lulu wore devil's horns—Halloween was coming up after all. Felicity could see Sam and Greg, whose view was blocked by Lulu, try to stretch around the oversized action-figure.  
  
“God,” Yongtak breathed. “If I had a husband like that I'd be distracted, too. Perfect excuse, Fe.”  
  
Tak's statement ended Felicity's trance. She realized that she had to do something. She started walking, stepped over the threshold of the office and into view of her employees—not that they noticed her.  
  
“You could at least pretend to be working,” Felicity said loudly as she passed through the desks, and she was pleased to see certain people flinch and scramble to do as she had said.  
  
Oliver had, by now, mounted the last step. His eyes landed on Felicity, who sent him a small smile. He returned it, but to Felicity it looked forced. She saw him close one button of his blue jacket, which he had combined with blue jeans and a burgundy dress shirt. It gave his appearance a strange stiffness that seemed deliberate, and she couldn't help but think that he looked very tired.  
  
“Hey, I didn't expect you,” she said when she was close enough not to have to shout. She could sense that he was pointedly ignoring all the people watching him by keeping his eyes on her and she could sense something in his gaze, a silent question that she didn't know the answer to.  
  
“I'm sorry to just drop by unannounced,” he said. “I thought we might have dinner together.”  
  
She glanced at her watch as she stopped opposite him. It was already two o’clock. She looked back up and as their eyes met she knew that there was no way she could say no that his request. She brought a smile to her face. “What a nice idea. I just need to give Tak my fried laptop and I'm good to go.”  
  
“Tak. That would be me.” Startled, Felicity turned around. She hadn't noticed Yongtak following her. Now he was standing right behind her, holding his hand out to Oliver. “Hey, I'm Yongtak. Where's your handsome bodyguard? I seriously _Digg_ him.”  
  
Felicity couldn't help but lean her head back and glance toward the ceiling as she wondered how Yongtak could be such a big cliché.  
  
Oliver shook the outstretched hand. “Hi, I'm Oliver. And Diggle's outside, talking on the phone. We agreed that I was safe in here.”  
  
Felicity snorted. “He probably wanted to avoid my shameless lead coder.”  
  
Yongtak was unfazed. “It's true what they say: the best men are married or straight.” He added a smile that Felicity could only classify as dirty. “Or both.”  
  
Felicity was about to react to that, when she saw Oliver suddenly stiffen. Twisting his neck, he focussed on the stairs. For a second he stared down there, then he turned back around, shouting,“EVERYBODY DOWN!”  
  
Felicity hadn't fully registered his words when he threw her to the ground. She landed hard on her back with him above her, when she heard a series of bangs rip through the air. It took Felicity an instant to realize that those sounds were shots. Somebody was shooting at them! She heard glass shatter and people yelling and it was all blending into a cascade of sounds that overwhelmed her. She felt Oliver's heavy body on top of her, but it never felt like he was crushing her. She felt safe, cradled to his chest with his warmth, his scent, so close to her. She didn't realize that she was flinching with each shot. Her body was tense against Oliver's, who now moved. She didn't really recognize what he did, but, suddenly, a deafening silence surrounded them.  
  
It felt like hours to her, but it had most likely only been a few seconds. It all seemed like a trance. As if in slow motion, she felt Oliver move off her and glanced around the room. She saw people picking themselves off the floor, she saw that the Lulu-statue had lost its head and then she saw Oliver's worried face directly in front of her. His lips were moving, she realized. He was talking to her. She blinked once, and a second time, trying to focus, but she was too confused. She felt a hand rest on her cheek. It was this touch, Oliver's touch that began to bring her back. Then she heard his voice, “Felicity.”  
  
Strangely, the first thing that came to her mind was that she loved the way he said her name. She had always disliked her name. It was too pretentious—which fit her pretentious mother perfectly. As a child she had always wanted to be a Kate or an Emily or an Anna or any one of those simple and good names. As a child she had always wanted to be ordinary. But Oliver made her name sound special in a way she enjoyed.  
  
And right now he repeated it. “Felicity, are you okay?”  
  
She finally came back to the here and now. “Yes,” she blinked and focused on his face that looked so worried. “I'm okay. I think.”  
  
He let go of her face and she realized that she was sitting on the floor. She took another glance around the room. She finally noticed details. Details like the fact that Tak was on the floor next to her. Obviously Oliver had tackled him as well. She saw shards everywhere that had once been furniture or computer screens or coffee mugs. She saw John Diggle standing there with a readied weapon, and she saw a guy lying on the floor with a red puddle collecting around him. “I—” She stopped right there, because she didn't know what to say, how to continue, let alone how to finish that sentence.  
  
“Hey,” Oliver's soft voice entered her conscious. “It's okay. You're safe. Nobody was hurt, I think.”  
  
That was good news, Felicity reasoned. She nodded and moved to get off the floor. She was the boss, these were her people, and she needed to be there for them. She glanced around the room and called, “Is everybody okay?”  
  
“No.”  
  
It was a weak word that came from the other end up the room. It was a female voice and Felicity knew who it belonged to; Samantha Huton wasn't the best coder out there, but she had potential and Felicity had felt like she should give a sister a chance. Females were such a rare breed in the field that Felicity makes a point to hire them when possible and offer them a safe working environment. Still, most of her employees were male and Sam was one of the few exceptions.  
  
Without really noticing what she was doing, Felicity raced to the girl. She heard Oliver call, “Digg, call an ambulance!”  
  
That was the best course of action, Felicity realized, as she saw the girl on the floor, her yellow tank-top turning red.  
  
“Sam,” Felicity breathed, pressing her hands to Sam’s stomach, where blood was seeping out of her.  
  
She felt Oliver get to his knees next to her. “Here,” he said and held something blue out to her.  
  
She grabbed it and pushed it against the wound, making Sam yelp in pain. Felicity's heart was beating up in her throat, but she sent her employee a small smile, pressing the blue something – that she now realized was Oliver's jacket – against her stomach. “It's okay. Help is on the way.”  
  
“It hurts,” the woman, whose hair was colored in the brightest red possible, whimpered. Confusion was visible on her face as she looked at Felicity. “What happened?”  
  
“I don't know,” Felicity answered, but it was only partly true. She had a horrible suspicion that all of this was her fault—because she had made a rookie mistake.  
  
__________________________________  
  
Felicity was good under pressure. That was Oliver’s main realization in the last two hours. He felt a strange sense of pride as he watched her console her employee, as she pressed onto the wound of the younger woman and kept her calm until the ambulance arrived. She took charge, handled the situation, emanating confidence and by that she was really calming all the people around her.  
  
The workers from the top floor – who had only heard the sounds of the shooting had run downstairs as soon as the noise had stopped – had made things even more frantic than they had already been. Felicity had also taken care of that—in the strangest and best way possible: she had given them money and sent them to the diner down the street to go and calm down. It was a weird form of group therapy, but pretty genius in Oliver's eyes.  
  
His secondary realization was that Felicity was obviously good with picking her employees. Yongtak might be unable to check people out subtly – and, boy, was Oliver glad that Diggle seemed to be his main interest – but he wasn't the kind of guy to lose his head either. His first action had been ordering his coders to check on the hardware, inventory what was destroyed and make sure there was no possible security threat to their servers.  
  
A well-known voice ripped Oliver out of his musings. “Oliver Queen. I can imagine why somebody would want to shoot at you.”  
  
Keeping his expression blank, Oliver faced Detective Quentin Lance. “An innocent young woman was seriously injured, Detective,” he reminded him. Then he climbed even higher on his high horse, “That's hardly a joking matter.”  
  
Lance looked like he wanted to slap Oliver, who inwardly enjoyed the other man's agitation a little. “Where's your lovely wife? I need both of your statements.”  
  
Turning around Oliver called, “Felicity!” She was standing on the other side of the room, but ended her heated but quiet conversation with Yongtak when she heard her name. “Detective Lance needs our statements.”  
  
Oliver was absolutely sure that Felicity hated the prospect of that as much as he did, but she really was good in keeping up appearances in public. “Of course,” was her instant reaction. She motioned toward the stairs leading to the third floor. “Let's go to my office. I'll be right there.” She glanced around the room, searching for somebody. “Jerry.”  
  
“I'm on it,” was the immediate answer and again Oliver couldn't help but be impressed with the level of professionalism all those people possessed. The small man in a grey suit, whose rumpled state told tales of the last two hours, appeared next to Oliver. “Mr. Queen, Detective, please follow me.”  
  
Jerry, who Oliver knew was Felicity's EA and who had organized an ice-pack for Diggle to cool his hurt hand in minutes, led them up another wide staircase to the upper floor. Another loft-like room waited for them there, but it was lacking the computer-nerd vibe. Instead of posters, which covered the brick walls downstairs, there were paintings that reminded Oliver very much of the ones in Felicity's apartment. Desks in a light wood were again arranged in clusters, but here there were also plants and a sitting area next to a professional-looking coffee machine. It was like they were having their own little Starbucks right there. Jerry led them across the room, past a lone desk and into the closed compartment that was Felicity's office. “Can I get you anything to drink?”  
  
“No, thank you.” Oliver answered, while Lance only grunted in rejection.  
  
Oliver took a second to glance around the room, to take in the huge windows on the right, the desk with the impressive computer monitor plus a laptop and paper filled with printed out letters and symbols and scales that meant nothing to Oliver. He saw a shelf filled with books and pictures and a sitting area with three colorful chairs placed around a table. This office was so very different from the one his mother had offered him only three hours ago. He found that he would prefer this one—if he were the office-type.  
  
Leaving those thoughts behind, he turned to Quentin Lance. “So, Detective, I hear that congratulations are in order.”  
  
The expression on the older man's face switched from confusion to unhappiness in milliseconds. “There really is no need for that.”  
  
“Come on, Detective. If a wedding isn't a good reason to party, what is?!”  
  
“As far as I know, for you partying is a good reason to marry.”  
  
“Guilty,” Oliver smirked. “And look at me now, enjoying the domestic life.”  
  
“I don't remember getting shot at being part of the domestic lifestyle.”  
  
“Believe me, we will _not_ turn this into a part of ours either.” Felicity entered the room with quick steps, walked past the men to her desk. She picked up the laptop and handed it to Yongtak, who had followed her. Their eyes met for a second and then Yongtak nodded. “I'll get right on it.” With another nod to Lance and Oliver he left the room and closed the door. Oliver's eyes snapped to Felicity, who evaded his glance.  
  
Instead, she motioned to the sitting area. “Please, have a seat.”  
  
Oliver let his eyes linger on her a little longer. The laptop had triggered understanding, had caused him to connect what happened here today to what had happened last night and he didn't like that at all. But he realized that Felicity was right: it wasn't the right time to discuss this. With Quentin Lance in the room, it was time to live up to his image. He moved to the seat in the middle and said, “Felicity, did you know that Tommy and Laurel are engaged?”  
  
This sudden change of pace mentally tripped Felicity for a second, but she caught herself quickly. “No, I didn't know. Detective, you must be thrilled.”  
  
He wasn't. It was obvious. “At least Merlyn is a step up from that scumbag she dated before him.”  
  
“Good point,” Oliver said, unfazed, and glanced at the other two people. “I will make sure to mention that in my best man speech.”  
  
“Can we get to the topic at hand?” Lance snapped. “Mr. Queen, is there any chance that this shooting might be connected to your abduction last week?”  
  
Again Felicity needed a visible second to catch up. Oliver had a pretty clear idea why this would throw her, she obviously believed the attack to be related to something very different. She frowned at the police officer. “What?”  
  
The Detective’s question had also been swirling in Oliver’s head. If Diggle had driven the Bentley, Oliver would be sure that nobody had followed them from QC to Firestorm, but Diggle had sat in the backseat next to Oliver, who had been lost in his own thoughts. There was the possibility that somebody had tailed them and that Oliver had been the real target. He looked at Lance and asked, “Detective, isn't that your job? To figure out what’s going on here?”  
  
Lance sent Oliver an icy glance that held the potential to freeze hell before he turned his attention back to Felicity. “Did you receive any threats or do you have any idea why somebody would target you, Mrs. Queen?”  
  
Her face held the perfect amount of confusion as she answered, “No, all of this makes absolutely no sense to me.”  
  
And that's probably not even a complete lie, Oliver thought and cleared his throat. “We will tighten security in any case. Do you know the identity of the man our bodyguard shot?”  
  
“We're still looking into that,” Lance said smoothly, obviously not interested in telling him anything else. He took a pad of paper out. “Now, Mrs. Queen, let's start with what you remember about the attack.”  
  


__________________________________  
  
Sweat was running down her forehead, collecting on her brow and dripping onto her cheekbone. She was drenched, but she just kept on running. Her feet were beating down on the treadmill in a steady rhythm that mixed with the buzzing of the conveyor. Felicity faced the windows. A beautiful sunset was visible behind the glass, the lowering sun painting the sky red, making the high-polished faces of the neighboring buildings sparkle and reflect the vanishing light. But Felicity didn't see it. Her eyes stared into nothingness as her body and her mind raced at full speed.  
  
Yongtak hadn't been able to get anything from her laptop either. She had really hoped that he would be able to pull off a miracle she hadn't been able to perform. She had really hoped to get some answers, had prayed to get confirmation that she had destroyed her laptop in vain, that she had freaked over nothing and that the guy storming into Firestorm shooting at her people, seriously injuring Sam, and apparently fighting with John, had indeed only tried to eliminate bidding competition. That had been Detective Lance's warning: people known as serious bidders in the _Unidac Auction_ had been attacked. She really wished that the detective was right.  
  
But no matter how much she wished for it, there was no proof and the bigger part of Felicity had never expected it because she knew that all of this was her fault. Sam was injured, because she had done a stupid, stupid thing. She was so angry at herself. And she was freaked out by what had happened. Because ultimately it didn't matter why people had tried to shoot her; one simple fact remained: somebody _had_ shot at her.  
  
She could hardly remember any details about it. She hadn't even seen that John had been fighting against a second man, who had apparently escaped by jumping out of the window. It was all a blur of panic and noise, of being pressed against Oliver's chest and a silent prayer.  
  
“Felicity.”  
  
She nearly tripped off the treadmill. She grabbed the handles to steady herself, to keep from planting head first into the cockpit. Quickly, she pressed a button and decreased the speed. Her quick running turned into fast walking just as Oliver moved so that she could see him without having to twist her head around.  
  
Oliver had left Firestorm shortly after Lance. There had been no need for him to stay and watch her picking up the pieces of her company. John Diggle had stayed with her, even with his injured hand. Felicity had tried to get John to get medical help, but he had insisted on staying with her and Felicity couldn't help but feel like Oliver was partially responsible for that.  
  
Now he stood looking at her, the window and the scenic sunset behind him, his head slightly tipped to the side. “Digg says you're running for one hour.”  
  
“Really?” she asked and noticed how winded she was.  
  
“Really,” he answered and then lowered his voice. “We should talk about what you're running from.” He didn't wait for her reaction. “Finish up here, I'll order pizza. What do you want?”  
  
“A salad. Tuna.”  
  
Oliver nodded. “I love pepperoni, too.” Without saying another word, he left the room.  
  
Felicity's hand tightened around the handles of the treadmill. He might have saved her life, but there was absolute no excuse for acting like this. But she knew that it was time to stop running.  
  
She brought her pulse down to a more normal level and dragged her suddenly tired body into the shower. She didn't know how long she stood there, letting the warm water trickle onto her head and take her tears down to the drain. Utter exhaustion, an undefinable fear, and undeniable regret were the combined reason for her clichéd crying in the shower. When she finally wiped the misted up mirror she saw how red her eyes were but decided against applying make-up to cover the evidence. She just toweled her hair dry and put on her nesting doll comfortable pants and a tank top. Her feet were bare as she left the walk-in closet and crossed her bedroom.  
  
About to step into the hall, she heard Oliver's voice. “I'd say thank you, but I don't think that would cover it.”  
  
“Like I told Felicity: I was just doing my job.” John sounded as calm and collected as always. “Besides, I think I should be thanking you.” A moment of silence followed this before John added, as if explaining, “The letter opener.”  
  
“I got lucky.”  
  
“It was a letter opener, it wasn't weighed properly, but you threw it with accuracy across the room.”  
  
“As I said: I got lucky.”  
  
It took John an moment to say something to that. When he did, his voice held a certain edge. “I'm not that the kind of man you want to take for a fool.” Again he inserted a short pause before he added, “Do you understand, Mr. Queen?”  
  
“Yes.” Oliver sounded unaffected.  
  
“And I'm just beginning to understand what kind of man you are.”  
  
Oliver's voice was like an audible shrug. “Shouldn't take you very long. I'm shallow.”  
  
No, Felicity thought, he really wasn't. But he was obviously dumber than she believed him to be, if he expected John to buy that. Felicity decided that this was a good moment to step into the hall. The two men noticed her instantly and turned to her.  
  
Oliver sent her the barest smile. “You're just in time for the pizza.”  
  
Felicity simply nodded.  
  
John Diggle straightened up a little. “Felicity, after what happened today, I think I should stay here tonight.”  
  
Felicity shook her head. “No, you're hurt, John. I want you to go home. There's so much security in this building, I think we'll be safe.”  
  
“No offense, Felicity, but I could tell you three ways to avoid security in this building—and those are just the ones that don't involve violence. I will stay here tonight. You have a guest room I can use, haven't you?”  
  
Oliver exhaled audibly through his nose and Felicity noticed right in that second that John's eyes were traveling over her neck and right then she remembered the bruises that were perfectly on display. They had somewhat faded but were still very much there. As quickly as they had been created, they only vanished slowly.  
  
Felicity could practically feel Oliver's unease and knew she had to make a statement. “John, if it makes you feel better, you can have the guest room.” She saw that Oliver was about to object, but she fixed her eyes on him before he could and sent him the unspoken message that she wasn't afraid of him, that she didn't mind sharing a room with him and that she trusted him not to hurt her again. For a few moments they only looked at each other. Oliver finally nodded. Felicity smiled. “Okay, so, I was promised a pepperoni pizza?”  
  
Oliver motioned toward the main room. “I promised to tell you that Kristina called. She said she'd cancel her date, if you needed her tonight. One text and she's here.”  
  
Felicity just shook her head. There really was no need for her best friend to have a crappy night. Somehow the thought of her best friend triggered a memo she had left to herself this afternoon. She turned to Oliver. “Oh, I've been meaning to tell you: I hope you don't expect me to go to Tommy and Laurel's wedding. Because that won't be happening.”  
  
________________________________  
  
The bed brought back bad memories: the look on Felicity's face illuminated by a cracking lightning bolt, her big eyes glancing at him with fear, the realization that his hand had closed around her neck, that he was pressing hard, that he was attacking somebody who had been nothing but kind to him.  
  
In the last years, the only way he had touched another person was with the intent of deceit, of hurting him or defending himself. His reaction to her soft touch had been a well-trained reflex that had saved his life many times, but that now threatened the life of an innocent woman. He had reacted in the best way he knew: he had distanced himself from her physically, had brought space between them, had tried to eliminate the danger that he was posing to her.  
  
But now he was back where he had hurt her. He had seen the glance Felicity had sent him when John had said he would take the guest room. Oliver had understood her unspoken message. She didn't mind sharing a bed with him, but he minded. He couldn't do it. He didn't trust himself to do it.  
  
He heard the bedroom door close behind him. His eyes left the bed he had been staring at and settled on Felicity.  
  
She smiled at him. “Thank you.”  
  
Surprised, he blinked at her. “What for?”  
  
“You noticed something was wrong, you warned everybody and that's the only reason why more people weren’t hurt. Without you things would have ended much worse, I'm sure.” She took a step toward him. “How did you know?”  
  
He shrugged. “I had a feeling.” Oliver was sure that it sounded dismissive to her, but it was the truth. He couldn't really explain it. He had heard heavy steps coming up the stairs that had transported him back to when he had been working for A.R.G.U.S. A sense of danger had washed through him and triggered automatic actions. It had been everything and nothing, but ultimately it had been correct.  
  
Calculatingly, Felicity looked at him until she just nodded. “However you did it, you saved my life and I'm thankful.”  
  
This sentence caused a strange sensation to run through him. It was strange, but nice. The niceness of it caught him off-guard and he felt like he couldn't deal with everything it stirred inside him. So he straightened up a little and said, “You think that what happened today had something to do with your hacking last night?”  
  
Now she was the one caught off-guard. She swallowed heavily before she straightened up, too. “I'm not sure. I think that it's a possibility.”  
  
“I need you to tell me what you did and why you believe somebody could be after you.”  
  
His voice made it absolutely clear that he expected her to do as he demanded. He needed her to tell him because he still wasn't sure if the shooters had been after her or him. He had dismissed his abduction as unimportant. After all, the kidnappers were dead. They weren't a threat anymore. But now he thought about a possible employer, someone who had paid them to get information out of Oliver; his abductors had asked very specific questions.  
  
If that was the case, it was his fault that the shooting had happened and that Felicity had ended up in the crossfire.  
  
After leaving Firestorm, Oliver had done the only thing he could think of: he had contacted the local Bratvas. If there was a contract on him or if somebody wanted Felicity's dead, they would find out. Sadly, he hadn't heard anything from them yet. They were probably still checking if Oliver really was a Captain.  
  
But if the shooters from today were indeed after Felicity, he needed more information to take out those people who dared to threaten somebody he cared about. He needed Felicity to talk to him.  
  
She didn't; not really, anyway. “I can't tell you. I made a promise and... I can't tell you.”  
  
“Felicity,” he gave his stiff posture up and moved a step toward her, “how am I supposed to protect you when you don't trust me?”  
  
“But I trust you.” The sentence practically flew from her lips. She rushed it out so quickly that she seemed stunned to hear her own voice. But for Oliver, hearing this somehow softened him, because she seemed to be serious about this.  
  
It was such an unfamiliar sensation. Trust had been absent from his life for the past five years. He hadn't really trusted anybody and he was pretty sure that very few people had really trusted him—people like Sara and Shado and Slade. All of them had paid a huge price for their trust in him, the biggest possible.  
  
When Felicity spoke up again, he realized that he was staring at her. “I can't tell you.” She spoke quickly. “I wish I could, but then I would betray the trust of somebody I care about. And I won't do that. I'm sorry. Please accept that.”  
  
Damn her for being such a trustworthy person!  
  
She tipped her head to the side a little. “Plus, you don't have to protect me. That's John's job, remember?”  
  
Oliver remembered. And he would make damn sure that Diggle never left her side again. The fact that she at least didn't give him a lame lie didn't help to dim his annoyance. “Fine,” he practically growled and turned around forcefully. He moved toward the bed and reached for his pillow.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
“I plan to sleep next door.”  
  
Felicity stared at him as if he had grown a second head. “What? In the closet? No.”  
  
“After what happened last time we shared that bed, there—”  
  
“Forget it!” Felicity crossed the distance that separated them and ripped the pillow from his grip. “I told you: I won't have you sleeping on the floor.” He inhaled deeply in a way that was mostly a sign of annoyance. He was about object, but she wouldn't let him. “No!” Her voice was strict. “I told you that I trust you, Oliver, and I trust you not to get all spooked again. Get in that damn bed and quit being stupid and difficult!” She hesitated shortly before she added, more quietly, “Unless you plan to go out tonight.”  
  
“No. I plan to stay with you tonight.” It was the truth. He knew that Diggle was close by, but he still wouldn't leave her alone after what happened today.  
  
“Good,” she said, “then stay with me tonight.”  
  
They stared at each other for a few heartbeats, her eyes daring him to try and not do as he was told.  
  
He didn't dare. “Fine,” he said and this time his voice was soft. He motioned toward her. “Can I have my pillow back?”  
  
Smirking, she threw it onto the bed. “Sure.” She sent him one last pleased glance and moved around the bed to her side.  
  
Oliver kept from shaking his head and instead reached for his shirt, pulled it over his head and, after a glance around the room, placed it over a chair in the corner. Felicity already climbed into the bed. He was about to unzip his jeans when Felicity spoke up again, “I've been meaning to ask you: why did you come by Firestorm today? You looked really exhausted. Did anything happen?”  
  
He saw her sitting on the bed, looking at him in a way that told him that she was ready to listen to anything he felt like discussing. This afternoon he had wanted to tell Felicity about his mother's expectations he just couldn't meet, but he wasn't in the mood for that anymore. So, he just stuck to the news she needed to know. “Oh, right, yes. I'm opening a club with Tommy in the Glades.” Hearing that, a less than thrilled expression crossed Felicity's face. So he added, “My mother hates the idea.”  
  
It shouldn't really be possible, but now Felicity looked even less happy. “Damn it,” her face twisted in annoyance. “I'd never thought I'd say that, but... I think your mother has a point.”


	10. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me make this quick and perfectly clear: I have the biggest (platonic but awfully intense) crush on all of you wonderful people. Thank you for being awesome. I am ecstatic that you enjoy this story. I hope you enjoy this chapter, too.
> 
> To Albinona: ❤

**October 29** **th** **, 2012  
  
** Her best friend had decided that Felicity needed abs.  
  
After the week she’d just had, Felicity couldn't disagree.  
  
The aftermath of the shooting was still weighing Firestorm down. The evidence of it might have been cleaned up – the giant Lulu was greatly missed, but nobody felt like simply replacing her – but it was still on everybody's mind. Felicity had visited Sam in the hospital. The poor woman would heal completely, but she had told Felicity that she wasn’t sure she could ever go back to the same place she’d been shot, let alone work there. Felicity hadn't been able to argue with that, but had just told the flaming redhead that she would hold Sam’s job for her until she was completely healed anyway. What else could Felicity have done?  
  
Felicity Queen also had a new shadow called John Diggle. He was following her everywhere but the bathroom—and not for lack of trying. Luckily, he had believed her that she wouldn't “pull an Oliver,” as they had lovingly come to call it, and try to escape through the window. Felicity had complained about the constant observation – but not too much, because she liked John and didn't want to hurt his feelings – but Oliver had insisted. Not even Moira had been able to sway him. So Moira had simply organized another bodyguard for Oliver, a man called Rob Scott, who Felicity had never met because every time she saw Oliver he had just ditched the poor guy. Felicity, Yongtak, and John had started a betting pool on how much longer Rob would take Oliver's crap.  
  
John had stopped staying in the guest room after two nights. The third night had also been the first that Oliver had gone out again. Felicity had been nervous on her first night alone—and, yes, at first she had missed the evenings the three of them had spent together, eating pizza, John teaching her self-defense moves, the guys watching football together. That had been wonderfully ordinary. That had been amazingly nice. But by now she was glad that things were back to normal. Because the normality had convinced Felicity that she had freaked over nothing and had blown her little hacking-slip-up way, waaay out of proportion. The best thing to do was to learn from it and to never let it happen again. She planned to seriously do that.  
  
Until now she hadn't told Walter about her findings, because.... Well, he was still in Australia. Telling a good friend that you believe his wife to be a money launder wasn't something that you did over the phone. Plus, after the last fiasco she hadn't dared to really look into that again. But she needed solid proof – which meant printouts of the numbers she found – when she talked to Walter. He would be gone at least another week, so she was pushing the proof-gathering back.  
  
And all of that had caused her best friend to come to the conclusion that she needed a girls’ night with wine and Vampire Diaries, aka guilty pleasure entertainment with good-looking hunks.  
  
“I can't decide if I like Elena as a vampire,” Tina said and took a huge swig of her wine. “I mean, we're three episodes in, and it still feels iffy to me.”  
  
Felicity reached for the bottle. It was a Friday evening, way past midnight, she had tomorrow off, and she was barely tipsy. For a decent girls' night that seemed off. “Maybe,” she said, hesitating shortly as she noticed that the bottle was empty. She glanced to her left where Tina sat next to her, comfortably positioned on the couch. “That's because you're not really watching, but thinking about your surgeon.”  
  
“We had a great first date,” Kristina sighed.  
  
Felicity nodded. “I know. You told me at least five times.”  
  
“We had an even better second date.”  
  
“With a grand finale,” Felicity smirked. “I know—in too much detail.”  
  
“And now he's on a date with another woman! And he told me he'd go on a date with her,” Kristina drew quotation marks in the air with the hand not holding her wine glass, “‘so it wouldn't be weird!'” She emptied her glass in one huge gulp. “How weird is that?”  
  
“He said he had set up the date before you went out the first time....”  
  
“Why are you defending him?”  
  
“I'm not!” Felicity looked at her best friend. “I am _not_ defending him,” she stressed. “I am merely trying to give you reasons why maybe this is nothing.”  
  
“Oh,” Kristina reached for the bottle, “it _is_ something! I mean, we never said we'd be exclusive...” She frowned at the empty bottle, before her eyes snapped to her best friend. “I need to get myself a date, too. What about that bodyguard of yours?! He's hot.”  
  
“No.” Felicity shook her head. “Leave him out of this twisted revenge thing you've got going on here. Plus, he has his own weird thing with the widow of his dead brother.”  
  
The brunette smirked. “That's pretty judgmental for a girl who's living in a very platonic roommate-situation with her returned-from-the-dead husband, whom she married in a drunken frenzy in Las Vegas.”  
  
“Okay, if you say it like that, it sounds pretty weird. Even if your perfect use of ‘whom’ is nice.”  
  
“Yeah, I always make sure to tease with correct grammar,” Kristina winked, before she added fake shock to her face. “I just realized that you're the married one, but I'm getting more action than you do.”  
  
“With a slutty surgeon who's dating someone else, too.”  
  
Kristina made a dismissive gesture. “Who cares? At least I'm getting some. You, on the other hand, are all work and no play. You need to get somebody to play with.”  
  
“You said it yourself: I'm married.” Seeing the look on her friend's face, she sighed and sank deeper into the cushions. “I know, you're right. But I'm just not good at casual sex. The only time I had sex with a stranger, I married him first.”  
  
Drunkenly, Tina chuckled. “And that's part of the reason why I love you so much.” From one moment to the next she turned serious and to her friend. “Then you should play with your hubby.”  
  
“I'm too sober for this conversation,” Felicity decided and got up to get a new bottle of wine.  
  
“Is that really such a crazy idea?” Kristina insisted. “You even shared a bed.”  
  
Felicity regretted telling her that, because Kristina didn't have all the information to really grasp what that meant. Her best friend didn't know about their first shared night and Oliver's hand around her throat. Felicity had never told her, so she couldn't tell her that sharing a bed with Oliver had mostly been proof of trust. There had been nothing sexy about it. They hadn't touched; both of them had stayed on their respective sides and slept peacefully.  
  
That might be nothing to probably nearly everybody, but it had been a lot to Felicity when she‘d seen the visible relief on Oliver's face when he had awoken that first morning. And it had been even better that he hadn't made a fuss the second evening, but had simply slipped under the covers next to her. It hadn't only been about her trusting him that’d buoyed his confidence, but also about him trusting himself. A huge, huge part of her wanted to tell her best friend all that, especially since her already loose tongue had been loosened even more by the wine, but she knew she really shouldn't.  
  
There was only one course of action, Felicity decided: changing the topic. “Forget the getting action. Do you know what I really need? A new housekeeper.” Standing in the kitchen, she motioned toward the worktop where cereal bowls and coffee mugs were piling up. “I'm the worst homemaker ever—and apparently Oliver hates doing the dishes, too.”  
  
“Shocker,” Kristina snorted.  
  
Felicity ignored that – because to be quite honest, apart from the dishes, Oliver was really tidy (most of the mess around was her mess) – and just opened another wine bottle. “I knew that it was stupid to not get a new one instantly, but I just couldn't.”  
  
“Hon,” Kristina sighed. “I know what Rosa did hurt you, but you've got to shake it off.”  
  
“Really?!” Felicity asked and let the bottle opener drop to the worktop. “That's your advice? Shake it off?”  
  
“Yes, shake it off and get a new cleaning lady.”  
  
“That's good advice, actually. I'll pitch in.” Four surprised female eyes flew to the door where Oliver stood. The faintest smile was playing around the corners of his mouth. “I hope I'm not interrupting.”  
  
Felicity's first instinct was to ask him how long he had been standing there, but then she realized that she had said nothing bad, nothing he didn't already know. He was perfectly aware of the fact that they had a very fatal one-night-stand, that she wasn't getting any action, and that her apartment was a holy mess. So she decided to just lift the opened wine bottle. “Not at all. Wine?”  
  
“Yes, hubby!” Kristina said and waved him over to the couch. “Come join us. I could use a male perspective.”  
  
“On what?” Suspicion was audible in Oliver's voice as he walked over. Before he sat down on the other end of the couch, he shortly glanced at Felicity, “Thanks, no wine for me.”  
  
Kristina held her glass out for Felicity to refill it and said, “So, you're a guy....”  
  
“I am a guy,” Oliver confirmed.  
  
“Yes, now imagine you're a guy going on two dates with this girl.”  
  
“Great dates,” Felicity clarified as she sank down on the huge seat next to the couch and placed her feet on the coffee table.  
  
“Yes, two _great_ dates. But then you call the girl and tell her that you want her to know that you're going on a date with another girl, because this date is planned for a veeeeery long time and you'd feel weird to just cancel, because the other, the second girl, is really looking forward to it.” Kristina turned to Oliver and placed her whole attention on him. “What does that mean?”  
  
Oliver blinked at her. “I honestly have no idea.”  
  
Annoyed, Kristina threw her hands up, nearly spilling her wine all over the couch. “You're no help at all!”  
  
“I'm not the expert on dating. I haven't had that many dates in my life.”  
  
“You're right,” Kristina sighed. “You're both useless. I probably have the most dating expertise in this room.” Suddenly her eyes lit up and she motioned between Oliver and Felicity. “And it's my expert opinion that you two should go on a date.”  
  
Felicity rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.”  
  
“I'm serious. I would look good to the press, but it would also do you two good.”  
  
“Oliver will go to the _Unidac_ auction with me tomorrow.”  
  
“That's not a date,” Kristina dismissed, “that's an official function. That doesn't count. Hey!” The brunette looked visibly proud with what she would say next. “He should come to Firestorm's Halloween party on Sunday. That would be awesome.” Her index finger pointed at Oliver. “Costumes are mandatory.”  
  
“I don't play dress-up,” Oliver clarified.  
  
“It's Halloween. On Halloween no one plays dress-up; you get ready for the drinking.”  
  
“You're drunk right now,” Felicity countered. “I don't take advice from drunk people.” She met Oliver's amused gaze and rolled her eyes.  
  
“Fine, do what you want. Oh!” Kristina gestured toward the TV where the recorded vampire show was still playing. “But that's something you're an expert on. Please tell me, how does Damon Salvatore get such amazing abs?”  
  
“Weight training.”  
  
“Okay,” Kristina stared at him blankly, “if you want to continue participating in girls' night you have to do better than that, hubby.”  
  
“What do you want me to say?”  
  
Felicity leaned back in her seat while she watched her best friend and her roommate, who she was married to, banter. Or rather: she watched her best friend banter and her roommate/husband try to keep up. After a stressful week, this was the best way to relax.  
  
Ninety minutes later the concierge called to tell them that Kristina's taxi had arrived. When Felicity returned to the main room she found Oliver filling the dishwasher. She couldn't help but smirk, “You heard me complain about the state of the apartment.”  
  
He glanced at her shortly. “I did,” he admitted and closed the dishwasher as the last inch of space was filled with a dirty something. “And you're right. I should do my part to keep your apartment clean.”  
  
“Our apartment,” she corrected, before she even registered what she was saying. “I mean, you pay your share of the rent and I want you to feel like you're home here. You're obviously more than a houseguest, and we both know that, really, I'm the messy one. You live here, and you should feel relaxed, and....” She didn't know how to say it correctly, she sighed and just said, “This is your home if you want it to be.”  
  
He smiled the barest smile. “Thank you.”  
  
She nodded, returning his smile.  
  
“I will get us a new cleaning lady,” he said.  
  
“Yes! Please!” she exaggerated with a laugh.  
  
For a few seconds he looked like he enjoyed her reaction, but then he turned serious again. His face all business, he took a few steps toward her. “I have another favor I need to ask you.”  
  
“Sure,” she said.  
  
He reached for a laptop bag that stood by the couch and that Felicity, in her lightly buzzed head, hadn't noticed before. He opened the bag and held a black laptop out to her, “There's information on it that I need. And you're the only computer genius I know. Is there any way you could get that thing running again?”  
  
For a second Felicity was sure that the red wine circling her system was making her see things, but even after blinking three times the view did not change. Her eyes filled with disbelief and she glanced up at him. “Are these bullet holes?”  
  
They were standing opposite to each other, an arm length separating them, but right in that moment Felicity felt like there was a canyon between them, because what was he doing with a laptop that had obviously been shot?  
  
“Yes,” he answered her question.  
  
How could he be so casual about this, Felicity wondered? She had a lot of computer parts with bullet holes in them at Firestorm and they seriously freaked her out. “How did it happen?”  
  
“I can’t tell you.” Felicity had already opened her mouth to tell him that that really wouldn't do, when he kept on talking, “I made a promise and... I cannot tell you.”  
  
“Damn it!” The words left Felicity's mouth before she could stop them. It was supposed to be quiet, mental cursing, because he had used her own words against her, but, of course, she would let it slip. She pressed her lips together to keep any other words from slipping out.  
  
“If it makes you feel better I can just say that I spilled a latte over it.” It was supposed to be a joke, she knew, but she didn't find that funny right now. Her distain was clearly visible on her face. Oliver tipped his head and looked at her carefully. “You said you trust me, Felicity. Trust me that I wasn't the one shooting at the laptop.”  
  
Their eyes met—and instantly all doubt left her. The sober part of Felicity waved an orange flag of worry because one glance shouldn't be enough to settle this. But, strangely, it was. It was enough to look into his eyes, see the expression there, his silent request, and come to the conclusion that she owed him one. She hadn't told him anything about her own laptop after she had drowned in Diet Coke.  
  
“Do you need this now?” she asked.  
  
“If you're still up to it.”  
  
She nodded slowly. “Let me get my stuff—and a glass of water.”  
  
If she hadn't drunk so much wine she could have been quicker. Her usually flawless typing skills were lacking, but finally she managed to display the files stored on the hard drive, which thankfully had not been hit by a bullet, on her own laptop. She was just about to open the first file when her cellphone rang. Startled, she flinched. She reached for the phone that rested next to her on the dining room table and saw an unknown number blinking in the display. “It's three a.m.,” she wondered and debated whether to answer or not. After the fourth ring she gave in, “Yes?”  
  
“Thank God, I was afraid I'd hafta call mom.”  
  
“Thea?” Her eyes snapped to Oliver, who sat next to her and took his eyes off the display. “Where are you?”  
  
“In jail.” She giggled drunkenly and slurred the words with her heavy tongue. “Can ya come an' get me? Bring bail.”  
  
“Bail? What are they charging you with?” That question caused Oliver to sit up straight and narrow his eyes.  
  
“Dunno, I was just tryin' on dresses.”  
  
“I don't think I'm good to drive, but Oliver's presentable. He'll come to the station and get you home.”  
  
“Noooo,” Thea whined into the phone. “That's why I called yoooouuuu. I don't want him to come. He so judge-y.” Felicity heard a male voice in the background telling Thea that her time was up. And, really, Thea could barely ask Felicity to come along with Oliver before the line went dead.  
  
Slowly, Felicity let the phone sink. “This evening is just getting better and better. Let's go and pick your sister up from jail.”  
  
____________________________________  
  
Oliver Queen was an angry man. He had enough self-awareness to admit that. He was angry at many things and many people – too many to name, actually – but in the middle of everything, the rage that everything else circled around, was a deep and unforgiving anger at himself. It was a general enragement that Oliver had gotten used to in the last years; it was a steady companion that followed him everywhere.  
  
But right now it was joined by a new kind of anger that felt strangely foreign to him: it was a weird kind of disappointment that mixed with disbelief and an unwelcome version of deja-vu. Because, really, he had been there. He himself had been fetched from the police station many times, too many times. It was one of the numerous things he despised about himself: his reckless past.  
  
But at least back when his parents had collected him from a holding-cell, he had had the decency to act guilty and ashamed, even if it was just that… an act.  
  
Thea on the other hand didn't seem to care. She sat in the backseat of his car and told Felicity about the cute dress she had tried on in the store—in the store she had broken into. Oliver really couldn't believe that he was witnessing Thea acting like this; it was so disappointing, because it hit too close to home.  
  
For twenty minutes he sat in the driver's seat, his hands so tightly closed around the steering wheel that his knuckles were white, and listened to his drunken sister talk shit. There was no other way to say it, because nothing useful had left her lips since the cop had lead her to them from where Oliver knew the cells were.  
  
The only thing that had worked in his advantage had been the fact that Detective Quentin Lance had the evening off. Oliver really hadn't been in the mood for another encounter with him.  
  
Oliver felt Felicity's eyes on him. She sat next to him in the passenger’s seat and hadn't said anything in the last twenty minutes either. Oliver noticed her glance, but he didn't acknowledge it. He couldn't. It took everything he had to hold on to the last edges of his patience. But he was losing his grip and getting closer to exploding with every minute that passed and with every word that Thea said.  
  
And, boy, she was still talking, “Fellily... Fecity... Damn, I ne'er noticed.... Your name is haaaard.”  
  
_Only if your tongue is weighed down by alcohol_ , Oliver thought as he palmed the steering wheel.  
  
“Thea,” Felicity reacted for the first time, turning in her seat, “how much did you drink?”  
  
“Dunno,” Thea shrugged. “Max let me into the VIP area. Drinks there are free.”  
  
“Of course,” Felicity muttered under her breath, “because VIPs aren't usually the loaded kind with money to pay for drinks. I never got free drinks when I was your age and partying.” Catching herself, she cleared her throat and returned her attention to Thea, saying, louder this time, “Max? Who's Max?”  
  
_Good question_ , Oliver thought, because he'd really like to know.  
  
“Max Fuller. He owns a club called Poison.”  
  
It shouldn't be possible, but Oliver managed to further tighten his grip on the steering wheel as he turned the car into the long driveway leading to Queen Mansion.  
  
Max Fuller; Oliver had bad history with him—no, actually, Oliver had the worst history with him. Another awful story of his awful past: he had slept with Fuller's fiancée at their rehearsal dinner. Yeah, that was one seriously low point in a tale that was very low to begin with. Was this Fuller's way to get revenge? An ice cold shiver raced through Oliver and he stepped on the brake way stronger than necessary. “Did Max try anything with you?” Oliver practically growled at Thea, who looked honestly taken aback.  
  
She frowned until she understood what he meant. “Ewww! NO! He's like nearly thirty.”  
  
Felicity bit back a smile. “Yeah, Oliver! Eww! He's practically _dead_.”  
  
Oliver wasn't in the mood. He shot around to face his sister. “Get out of the car!”  
  
His voice was so harsh that Thea followed his barked order instantly. He had just reached for the door handle himself, when Felicity's soft voice stopped him, “Oliver, you should go easy on her. We've all done stupid things after drinking too much.”  
  
For a short moment their eyes stayed connected, but the softness in her eyes didn't calm him. He didn't want to be calmed.  
  
He was angry and for once he felt like it was a very righteous anger.  
  
Together all three of them entered the mansion and right there in the entrance hall stood his mother, dressed in her nightgown, covered by a delicate robe, with her arms crossed over her chest.  
  
Her head held high, Thea met their mother's gaze. “Mom,” she said and just the way she said that one word was enough to make it obvious how drunk she still was. “You didn't hafta wait for me.” She motioned up the stairs, “I know the way.”  
  
Moira Queen looked unaffected. “Last time it was public intoxication. This time it's breaking and entering. My, how we are moving up in the criminal world.”  
  
Thea smirked in a way that made Oliver even angrier. “You know,” Thea said, “when you pay off the store owner you should really check out their merand, merchise.... their stuff. They got some killer outfits.”  
  
“Thea, go to bed.”  
  
“On my way.” Thea grinned one last time and started climbing up the stairs.  
  
Oliver couldn't believe it. He stared at his mother. “That's it?”  
  
“Your sister is drunk. This is not the time to have a serious discussion.”  
  
Oliver straightened up and took a step toward his mother. “Did you have a serious discussion with her last time the police brought her home? When she was sober again, did you ground her?” His mother didn't have to say anything, the answer was on her face. “She's testing you!” Oliver insisted.  
  
“Yes. Who did she learn that from? When your sister is this way it's best to give her some space.”  
  
His eyes hard, his lips pressed together, and he stared at his mother. He knew what she was suggesting, what she was accusing him of without really saying it. But this wasn't his fault. His sister acting like that, being like that, wasn't his fault. He would take the blame for many things, but not for that! The fact that his sister was following in his footsteps, walking down a path he didn't want her to be on, was not his doing. And for once he wasn't willing to take on yet another burden. His voice reflected his anger when he said, “When I was her age, you and Dad let me get away with murder. Looking back, I could have used less space and more parenting.”  
  
“Are you saying that I was a bad mother?!” It was a rhetoric question, which became absolutely clear when his mother closed the space between them, her silk robe flowing behind her as she took forceful steps. “I did everything in my power to protect you!” Her eyes were shooting daggers at Oliver. There was a fire in the way she looked at him, an expression on her face that he had never seen before. Both rooted him to the spot. “I have devoted myself to keeping this family safe. Alone. When people out there were trying to hurt us. I cleaned up after you time and time again.”  
  
“I never asked you to clean up after me!” Oliver shot back.  
  
“You didn't have to. I'm your mother. It's what mothers do: protect their children from their own mistakes, love them despite everything. And I always loved you despite all the stupid things you did. I loved you—and then you left me! You and your father, the two men in my life I cherished most. I had to _bury_ you! And then I had to bury your son! The little ray of hope that we were granted.” He saw his mother glance past him to where he knew Felicity stood, before she settled her gaze back on her son. “He was ripped from us! Like you were! Like Robert was! So, excuse me, Oliver, if I don't live up to your expectations of what a mother should be, but I can't give more than I have. And I've always given everything.” With that she turned around and walked up the stairs.  
  
Oliver followed her with his eyes, his heart beating up to his chest while trying to sort out what he was feeling. Breathing heavily, he glanced up to the top of the stairs. Moira was walking past Thea. Oliver hadn't noticed that she was still there. He met the big eyes of his sister and suddenly he realized that the anger he had felt until now had never been righteous. Suddenly the rage that was a hot burning ball inside him heated up even more, because he once again realized: he was just such a self-righteous ass.


	11. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must admit: I've been looking forward to posting this chapter. I'm really, really curious to hear (read) what you think about it. So, I let's keep this short. You know how much I love all your amazing feedback and support. If you don't: I love it A LOT. You're all brilliant. Thank you!
> 
> All my love to **Albiona**! Thank you for everything. (We'll see if your predictions regarding this chapter are correct. But you know I completely trust your judgement.)

**October 30** **th** **, 2012  
  
** What good was a husband returning from the dead, if he ditched you when you actually needed him? If that was Oliver's version of help, he might as well have stayed dea—  
  
Damn it! Felicity couldn't finish that thought. Not even in her own head. Not after she had seen multiple people telling him that they wished that he would have really died. Oliver had taken all those insults as if they didn't mean a thing, but they had to hurt.  
  
There was already so much hurt inside Oliver; it was more than enough. Felicity knew. She couldn't have possibly missed it last night when he had turned around after the fight with his mother. It had been there in his eyes, pain and anger. On the ride home, Felicity had tried to talk to him, but he had just snapped at her and then fallen quiet.  
  
Silence was the main problem the Queens were facing.  
  
The lack of communication was tearing this family apart. They were all so wrapped up in hiding behind their public fronts (the competent matriarch, the careless and aloof son, the reckless and easy-going daughter, the heartless and unaffected daughter-in-law) that they forgot to show each other their real selves. Last night Felicity had been reminded of the real Moira, of the woman who had held her hand while she had given birth, who had taken the picture of her holding Jonas that one time, whose tears had fallen onto her grandson's face as she had whispered loving words to him. Moira Queen was a mother; she had many flaws, but Felicity truly believed that she cared about her family, about Oliver and Thea and Walter and some of the care even extended to her, Felicity.  
  
Did that mean that a caring mother couldn't also be a money-launder?  
  
Hell no! But it meant that Felicity had to be careful with any kind of accusation, because no matter how much she sometimes wished that it wasn't the case: the Queens were her family now. She was part of this family, and she had to protect them all.  
  
Before she had finally crawled into bed around six in the morning, she had decided that she would be the one to end the silence in her home. She would talk to Oliver, try to convince him that a family dinner was a good idea, that all the Queens needed to get together and for once not save face and keep up appearances, but to actually talk. Felicity was one hundred percent sure that that would most definitely help Thea more than Moira grounding her. That girl didn't need more discipline, as Oliver thought. She needed more attention from somebody who wasn't paparazzi.  
  
That resolution had gone out of the window when Felicity had woken up again and Oliver was nowhere to be found. That had been around noon. Since then, seven hours had passed in which Felicity had nursed her anger.  
  
And, hell, was she angry at him! He had promised he'd go to the auction with her! He had promised he'd be there—and he was nowhere to be found. Once again, she was faced with a judging crowd, alone, with the stares full of pity or gratification, because the Queen Bitch (yeah, she knew about the nickname people liked to call her, it was very hard not to) was standing there all by her lonesome.  
  
Next time Oliver asked her to go anywhere with him he could _forget it_. She had gone to his resurrection-bash, she had faced all of that for him, so she really thought he could have sucked it up for one evening and look dashing in a suit while standing next to her! That wasn't too much to ask, was it? The looking handsome came kind of naturally to him anyway.  
  
Oh, yeah, he was handsome, but he was also an unreliable jerk, who thought it would be okay to send her a text (“Something came up. Sorry”) instead of – for once – supporting her.  
  
Felicity was pretty sure that the laptop had something to do with it. The laptop riddled with bullet holes that she had hooked onto her own new one. Thea's call had distracted her, she had never gotten around to looking at the files. But this morning the laptop had been gone along with Oliver. If she saw him tonight, he could so—  
  
“Felicity Queen, always a pleasure to see your beautiful face.”  
  
Since Felicity was in a very public place all her defenses had been up, which was the only reason why she kept from flinching and groaning at hearing that voice. “Palmer,” she said casually as she faced the last man who had broken her heart. No, that was wrong. Ray Palmer had not just broken her heart; he had thrown it to the floor, trampled on it until there seemed to be nothing left. But Felicity had picked up the pieces and gotten her self back together, and she refused to let this guy affect her. She forced herself to meet his eyes. “Didn't I tell you that I'd rather jam a fork in my eye than be faced with you again?” Okay, not as unaffected as she had hoped.  
  
He pointed his index-finger at his face. “And never see this again?! Look at this handsome bone structure!”  
  
She had always loved how easy-going he was. Ray Palmer had always made her laugh; it was part of the reason why she had fallen in love with him. But the jokes and the banter and the easy smile had covered up his real self—and discovering that had been painful. The guy she had found there was awful. She hated that guy, the real Ray Palmer.  
  
That made it easy for her to just stare at him coldly. “Never sounds perfect.”  
  
She brushed past him and kept moving away, grabbing a delicate champagne flute from a waiter’s tray without slowing. She had taken the tiniest sip to keep up appearances when she noticed John Diggle. He stood in the background, observing the crowd, like the perfect bodyguard he was. Even if Oliver was MIA, John was there. At least one man didn't abandon her. Not that she was in any danger in the building, it was so heavily guarded. For some strange reason even Detective Lance and many of his colleagues had spread out strategically across the room. Somehow their presence seemed odd to Felicity. This might be an auction, but it wasn't like there was the threat of a robbery, because today a company was up for bid—it would be really hard to pocket that and make a run for it.  
  
Felicity glanced at her watch, twenty minutes until the auction. When she looked back up, she was faced with Doris van Sutton, one of Moira's friends, who stood in front of her all of a sudden. “Felicity, what a pleasure. It's been too long since we saw each other.”  
  
With fake joy she greeted the older woman with fake kisses. “Doris, it's nice to see you. Is Gregory here for the auction?”  
  
“Of course,” the woman, whose brunette bob was styled impeccably, smiled for a second, before she turned solemn and reached for Felicity's left hand. “I am so happy for you. You must be thrilled about Oliver's unexpected return.”  
  
She would be thrilled if Oliver unexpectedly showed up, but she knew that he wouldn't. And she had done this sort of thing more times than she could count, and she wasn't the type of girl that wanted to be saved by a man anyway, so she just smiled her perfect Felicity Queen smile. “Yes, thank you. It's been a gift.”  
  
Doris van Sutton nodded in understanding and added, “A blessing.” Then she glanced around the room. “Where _is_ Oliver?”  
  
Ahh! Doris had gotten to the main point of the conversation in under one minute. Felicity's smile stayed in place, and she had just opened her mouth to tell a perfectly polite lie when suddenly she saw somebody run at her out of the corner of her eyes. She was about to turn her head, when she felt somebody tackle her. There was no other word to describe it. John ran into her full force and threw her to the ground as a loud bang ripped through the air.  
  
That was the moment when all thoughts left Felicity's head—all but one: _Not again!  
_ __________________________________________________________________  
  
He had been too late! Too late to take the assassin out before he could take his first shot. There had been too many access points to cover them all, too many good positions to get a perfect shot at the assassin, which was why he had gotten Lance involved. But Oliver hadn't been able to stand by, hadn't been able to just wait and see where the shot would come from—a shot that might be directed at Felicity, because she was known to be one of the most serious bidders in the auction. He had checked the most likely spots Floyd Lawton, aka Deadshot, might chose. But he had been too late. He had already fired once before Oliver had gotten to him.  
  
The fight had been fast and furious, bullets spraying everywhere from that strange little firearm the killer had strapped to his wrist. The man had dared to say that Oliver and him were in the same business; the business of killing. The irony that Oliver had vehemently denied that only to then put an arrow in Lawton's eye was not lost on Oliver.  
  
He stood there, still breathing heavily, when he suddenly heard shots echoing through the street. With quick steps he moved to the window Deadshot had cut a perfect hole into for his sniper rifle. What Oliver saw made the blood in his veins freeze.  
  
Through the huge glass windows of the Exchange Building directly opposite Oliver could see a masked man holding Felicity, pressing her back against his front, while he pointed a gun at her head. The man was dragging Felicity along, making her walk up the stairs with him. Oliver had to watch the guy pull her into something that looked like a luxurious office and lock the door behind him. Diggle as well as Detective Lance were in pursuit, Oliver saw that. And he saw that Diggle was limping.  
  
There was no way Oliver would stand there and watch from the other side of the street. Without thinking any further, he reached into his quiver.  
  
A few seconds later Oliver was gliding down a rope toward the man who was throwing Felicity against a huge wooden desk. With his gun he motioned toward a seat placed in front of it.  
  
Oliver could see his lips moving—then he crashed through the window and rolled off over his shoulder. He stood tall in the next moment, bow drawn and an arrow aimed at the man who was wearing a red skull mask with bright white teeth. The sight was very, very familiar to Oliver: it looked just like the one his kidnapper had hidden behind. His dead kidnapper.  
  
But, the masked man had reacted quickly and grabbed Felicity. The gun was pointing at her temple, pressing into her skin. “Move back or I'll blow her brains out!” the man threatened and took a step backward away from the guy in the dark green hood.  
  
“Let her go,” The Hood threatened and took a step forward, limiting the space again. He placed his attention on the masked man, because the expression on Felicity's face was too distracting. Fear shone in her eyes, her chest rose and fell with her heavy breathing, but she made no sound as she stared ahead, right at The Hood.  
  
“This is none of your business,” the man with the gun said.  
  
Oh, it was Oliver's business! The very notable mask and the fact that that guy dared to point a gun at somebody he cared about made it very much his business. But, of course, he wouldn't tell him that. Instead The Hood repeated his demand to “Let her GO,” with even more aggression in his voice.  
  
The other man took another step back instead. “I just need the bitch to tell me what she knows about that island trip of her deadbeat husband and you can have her.”  
  
There! It couldn't be more his business! “This is your last warning,” The Hood growled. “Let go of her or die!”  
  
Laughter came from behind the mask. “Really?! And how do you plan to kill me when I’m using this bitch as my shield?!”  
  
The Hood wasn't the kind of guy who added a lame-ass comment like “Let me show you” to the conversation—that was a waste of air, time, and the element of surprise. Instead, he released the bowstring and sent the arrow directly into the man’s eye. It was the second time he had made that shot today—in total it was the third time he had taken someone's eye, but who was counting? The force of the hit made the masked man stumble backward, loose his footing, and fall back toward the huge window.  
  
He was still holding on to Felicity.  
  
As soon as he saw the guy lose his balance, The Hood moved. He crossed the distance with quick and long strides and ripped Felicity from the other man's grasp so forcefully and aggressively that she crashed into his chest. Out of reflex he held on, cradled her to his body. His left arm wrapped around her back and his right flew to the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her blond hair, keeping her face pressed to his chest and angled away from his face. The sound of a crashing window, of shards exploding all over the room, was followed by a moment of silence and then a dull thud that came with the finality of a human body hitting hard ground.  
  
Without really noticing what he was doing, he hugged Felicity to him even stronger. It was an unconscious act, the tightening of his grip, triggered by his relief that she was unharmed, but he felt her stiffen against his body. He realized how strange it must seem to her. He realized that he had no business touching her like that—not in general, but especially not when he was hooded. He had purposely made sure that her head was turned away, that she wouldn't see up his hood. His now dead opponent had never bothered to turn on the lights. The only illumination was provided by the surrounding buildings, but it was better to be safe than sorry.  
  
Felicity's stiffening was enough for him to let go of her instantly. He took two steps back and kept his head lowered so that his hood was covering the whole upper half of his face. He heard Felicity take a deep breath and knew that she would say something. His best guess was to expect a very agitated babble.  
  
“You've _got_ to be kidding me! This is how you spent your nights?! And I thought you were fucking around!”  
  
Okay, he hadn't expected _that_. He needed a second to really take in her words, to grasp what they meant and that he wasn't mistaken, but when he did he felt a cold sensation race through him that was followed by a hot one, making his cheeks burn.  
  
In his shock his head shot up. Instantly, their eyes met and hers were glaring angrily at him. “Oh, buddy, wait 'til we get home! We'll _so_ have a long discussion about this!”  
  
He stared at her completely dumbfounded for a second, but the door crashing open spurred him into action. He reached for another rope-arrow, aimed it out of the broken window. Detective Lance's voice rang through the room ordering him to “FREEZE!” as he jumped.  
___________________________________________________________________  
  
If the members of the old men's club thought they could screw her over, because she was female and young and dyed blond, they hadn't met Felicity Queen yet. Those distinguished men with the perfectly tailored suits and the monogramed cufflinks and the golden Mont Blanc at the ready had tried to fleece her, use the fact that she had been held at gunpoint by some maniac with a mask. They had insisted that the auction had to take place as scheduled, had believed her to be too rattled to get it together and be a serious bidder.  
  
That made Felicity even angrier—and there had already been enough anger clashing through her. They had believed they could take advantage of her vulnerable state after a traumatic experience, but they had only achieved the exact opposite. In moments like these, when the pressure was high and people expected her to fail, when she was on public display and judged, her resolve was strongest. Her nickname was hard earned and she had showed them not to try to outmaneuver the Queen Bitch. Because what had happened tonight wasn't even close to the really traumatic stuff she had experienced, and those old bastards could go _suck it_!  
  
Not bothering to wait for any fake congratulations by the defeated bidders, she left the huge auction room. She had just turned around the corner, when her eyes connected with Oliver's. He had been standing on the other side of the room, wearing jeans and his brown jacket, but now he was moving toward her. Keeping the unaffected facade in place, she headed toward him, too, but she also noticed Detective Lance approaching from the other side.  
  
Felicity wasn't sure which one of them she wanted to speak to less.  
  
“You went back to the auction?” Oliver asked while walking toward her.  
  
“They tried to pull one over on me. My bet is on Gregory van Sutton. I bet it was his idea. But they chose the wrong day to mess with me.” Felicity said as they both took the last steps and stopped opposite each other. “Queen Consolidated is now the proud owner of _Unidac Industries._ And we even paid less than Walter was willing to. I think he’ll be very pleased. I agree with him that UI will be a real asset and strengthen the Science Division. Alternate power—you can't go wrong with that. Clean energy, who could be opposed? Saving the planet and all that....” Sometime during the last two sentences Felicity realized that she was babbling and she forced herself to stop talking.  
  
Oliver brought his hand up to her shoulder. “Are you okay?” Worry was visible in his eyes, and Felicity couldn't help but wonder what exactly he was worried about: about her or about her telling people what she had learned approximately one hour ago.  
  
She was collecting every last bit of willpower she could muster to harden her defenses again. Still, all she could bring herself to say was, “I guess so.”  
  
“Mrs. Queen, didn't I hear you say that you didn't want to turn getting shot at into a habit?”  
  
Detective Lance's statement was scraping at her willpower. “How is it my fault when other people turn shooting at me into a habit?”  
  
“Maybe you’re hanging out with the wrong crowd,” the detective said, his eyes on Oliver, who visibly stiffened.  
  
“Is there anything you wanted, Detective, apart from acting like an asshole?”Felicity spat.  
  
Damn it! There went her willpower. Felicity couldn't believe that she had actually let that comment slip, that stupid comment. She was supposed to be better than this, better at keeping up appearances. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and placed her attention on Lance. “I apologize, Detective. That was uncalled for. I'm having a bit of a day.”  
  
Quentin Lance pursed his lips, but then he nodded. “Fine, let's just get this over with. I need your statement.”  
  
“Can't that wait?” Oliver asked and brought his hand to Felicity's back. “She's been through enough today.”  
  
That was another statement that made Felicity wonder. Was he serious? Or was he just playing the caring husband? Was he worried about her or about what her statement would entail?  
  
But she couldn't dwell on that, she refused to dwell on that. “It's okay,” she said, directed at Oliver, before she addressed Lance. “I was talking to Doris van Sutton, a friend of the Queen family, when our bodyguard, John Diggle, threw me to the ground. Then I heard a shot.”  
  
“Just one?”  
  
“Yes, one. I realized that John had been hit.” She glanced at Oliver. “Did you hear anything from the hospital yet? The ambulance left before the auction started.”  
  
Oliver nodded. “Yes, he'll be fine. The wound itself wasn't bad, but apparently the shooter laced his bullets with some kind of poison. They want to monitor him overnight, but he should be good to go home tomorrow.”  
  
Relief flooded Felicity. The idea of John getting seriously injured or worse, because he had been protecting her, the thought of her being responsible for that – like she had been responsible for Sam getting hurt – was distressing. Plaguing. But that was another thing she couldn't debate now. “Thank God,” was all she said before returning to her original tale. “I got off the floor and called for somebody to get an ambulance, when somebody grabbed me from behind and waved a gun around, ordering everybody to stay back.”  
  
“Did you see his face?”  
  
She gave Lance a very pointed look. “No, he was wearing a mask. You should know, you were there.”  
  
“I meant later.”  
  
“No, he had the mask on the whole time. But I'm sure he'll be easy to identify, now that he's dead.”  
  
Lance pursed his lips again. “When you were alone with him, did he say anything?”  
  
“He told me to sit down.”  
  
“And?”  
  
She shrugged. “I never did, because then a guy in a hood crashed through a window.”  
  
“Ahh,” Lance said, “finally, the interesting part.”  
  
“That's the interesting part?” Felicity asked, annoyed. “Sorry, that a guy pointing a gun at me isn't enough to keep your interest.” Her passive-aggressiveness wasn't helping, she knew, but couldn't stop it.  
  
“What did the guy in the hood do?” Lance asked.  
  
“He aimed an arrow at the masked guy and told him to let me go.”  
  
“The masked man was holding you?”  
  
“Yes, he was using me as a shield, which he told the hooded guy, who reacted by putting an arrow in his eye. The force caused him to fall out of the window. And then you banged in and the hooded g— I’ll just go ahead and call him The Hood, that's shorter. He jumped out of the window.”  
  
“That's it? The Hood didn't talk to you?”  
  
“Oh, good, it's already catching on. No, he didn't say anything.”  
  
Lance looked at her intently. “Did you recognize him?”  
  
Felicity shook her head. “No.”  
  
“Did he seem familiar to you?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Then why is it,” Lance asked, his voice harsh and a little louder than before, “that he comes around every time a member of the Queen family needs help?” His eyes snapped to Oliver. “First he saves you, then your wife, but he puts arrows in other members of Starling City's one percent. Why?”  
  
“That's a question you have to ask him and not us, Detective.” Oliver answered, his voice even. “And I think that's enough.”  
  
“I am not done yet,” the detective retorted. “I have more questions.”  
  
“You will have to ask them some other time. And when you do, keep in mind that you're talking to a victim here, and not the offender.” Oliver was calm and collected again, an aura of aloofness and ease around him. His hand gently pressed against the small of Felicity's back, indicating for her to get moving. “Please, excuse us. My wife and I will go home now.”  
___________________________________________________________________  
  
They didn't go home. Instead, he brought her to the Glades—on a motorbike. Felicity had always believed them to be kind of sexy. The idea of riding one of those while holding on to the male biker had held a certain appeal that had been founded by romantic images invented by movies and TV shows. The speed, the closeness to another body, the hands resting on somebody's stomach that equaled safety, all of that had sounded amazing.  
  
In theory.  
  
In practice it was awful.  
  
The reasons for this were diverse. It started with the fact that, even though Oliver had given her his brown jacket to shield her from the wind, she was still wearing a short dress, and she had to figure out a way to get on the motorbike without flashing her underwear to the paparazzi. It continued with the realization that she had never appreciated safety belts enough. She clung to Oliver in a way that was neither sexy nor comfortingly close; it was a grip of pure panic, with her fingers digging into him. Her steel grip caused Oliver to use the time stopping at a red light gave him to bring his own hands to her arms. He turned to her and told her to “relax.”  
  
But she couldn't. She couldn't even relax when they finally arrived, because that was the moment she realized that she was standing in front of the old QC steel factory in the Glades. Why the hell would he bring her here?! Taking the helmet from her, he motioned for her to follow him. Silently, they walked past the industrial ruin that towered over them. Somehow Felicity felt like she should say something, but she honestly couldn't think of one thing that seemed adequate.  
  
She would lie if she said there weren't traces of worry inside her, because there were. She was worried about where he was taking her, about why they were here. She was worried about that, but she wasn't worried about what he would do. There was absolutely no doubt within her: he wouldn't hurt her.  
  
And, yes, she was also worried that she felt so confident in him.  
  
In silence they walked, until he led her into the factory, past pipes and long-useless machines. The whole scenery felt strangely lifeless, only illuminated by the full moon. Felicity was glad for the cold light it provided, because the ground was uneven and cracked and definitely not made for high heels. She followed him around a corner and down metallic stairs that rattled under his feet and clicked under hers. The moon light even found its way down here, but suddenly a loud crack rang through the room and as it echoed back from the cold bare walls electric lights flickered on.  
  
Felicity blinked. The sudden brightness was one reason for that, the other was that she couldn't believe what she was seeing. Because there were desks down here, filled with laptops and screens and some serious high-tech equipment. There were machines, whose names she didn't know, but it was obvious that he used them to make arrows. It was obvious, because they were lined up in a display. There also was the green box she had seen before. It was open and a bow rested inside.  
  
“I thought this was a better place to talk than home. Here, no curious neighbors. And I sense that you have to get some things off your chest.”  
  
Slowly Felicity nodded to Oliver's calm explanation. “Yeah, Mrs. McKenna is the worst. She was always nosey, but since you moved in it's gotten way worse. Last week, I caught her with her ear pressed to our door. That's really low, I think. And I don't know why I'm talking about that when I'm standing next to a display of ARROWS!”  
  
Okay, she had yelled. He had been right, it was better not to do this at home.  
  
She brought her hand to her forehead and noticed that it was trembling slightly. She had run on adrenaline since the second Diggle had tackled her, but it seemed like the motorcycle ride had been a little bit too much.  
  
In an effort to calm herself, and to come up with something to say, she glanced around the huge room. But the only thought that came to her was, “I cannot believe this. You're the vigilante! I really can't believe it!” She shot around to face him again. “You can't be serious! Look at this, this is CRAZY!”  
  
“This is necessary.”  
  
It had been a calm statement. He stood there, appearing absolutely unfazed and so very collected. He was in complete control while Felicity felt her own slipping. “Wow, I don't know why this shocks me so much since I know about the men torturing you, but... You really lost your mind on that island!”  
  
“I found something instead.”  
  
He was still so damn calm, it infuriated Felicity. “WHAT?” she shot back, trying to get a rise out of him. “Archery lessons?”  
  
“Clarity.”  
  
She stared at him. “I hope you don't expect me to react to that, because – _clearly_ – this is INSANE!”  
  
“Starling City is dying,” he said, ignoring what she had said. “It's poisoned by a criminal elite who don't care who they hurt, as long as they maintain their wealth and their power. And I promised to put an end to it.”  
  
“You promised?! To whom?”  
  
“My father. It was his dying wish that I right his wrongs.”  
  
Gesturing around the room, Felicity glared at the man opposite to her. “I don't think that he had something like this in mind!”  
  
“It's the best way. I know who to target. I know who's guilty. They deserve what's coming to them.”  
  
“You've got to be....” Felicity gasped. “So, you're what? Judge and jury and executioner in one?”  
  
“I am doing my best to save this city,” he argued, his calm starting to slip slightly.  
  
She on the other hand relaxed a little, managed to take some of the accusation out of her voice, turning it softer. “By putting on green leather, pulling up at hood and shooting arrows at people? Oliver, listen to the sentence I just said and hear how crazy it is. This is a crazy sentence!”  
  
“You really would have preferred me fucking around?”  
  
“To you killing people? Yeah! I really would have preferred that!”  
  
They glared at each other, until Felicity ripped her eyes away.  
  
“Why did you lie for me then?” he demanded to know, his own voice louder now. “Why didn't you tell Lance and had me arrested?”  
  
His words echoed through the room, billowing about them until they dissolved. Felicity didn't have an answer. She didn't know why, but it had never been an option to rat him out to Lance. Never had she even contemplated turning him in, and she couldn't really explain it. She stood there in the cellar of an abandoned factory, wearing his huge brown jacket, surrounded by high tech used to built medieval weaponry, and it all felt so unreal, like a bad dream. Maybe it was that thought, the memory of a bad dream, that caused her to say, “What do you mean, it was your father's dying wish? You said he died when the boat went down.”  
  
“He didn't,” Oliver said. Control had returned to him. His voice was strangely void of emotion. “We both made it to a life raft, but there wasn't enough food and water for the both of us, so he shot himself in the head.” Felicity couldn't help but flinch. It was horrible, an awful visual. It affected her and she hadn't even met Robert Queen.  
  
But Oliver said that sentence in such a detached manner. He might just as well have told her that they had once again run out of milk—as they seemed to do constantly, because he loved his cereal and they both hated grocery shopping.  
  
It was his emotionless way of speaking, his cool assertion, that triggered understanding in Felicity. He was detaching himself from it, because he had to.  
  
She felt her posture, her whole self soften as he continued talking. “As much as he was doing it to give me a chance to survive, I believe that he was also atoning for his sins. I need to right the wrongs done by my family.”  
  
Her first instinct was to tell him that he wasn't responsible for his father's actions. Whatever his father had done, it had never been Oliver's doing. But she swallowed that instantly, because how could Oliver not feel responsible? His father killed himself, so that his son could live. That must be worst-case survivor's guilt material. She just watched as he took two steps toward a desk and reached for a pale book with wrinkled pages. He held it out to her.  
  
Reluctantly, she took it. “What's that?”  
  
“I found it when I buried my father.”  
  
Felicity opened the small notebook; a strange symbol was printed of the flyleaf and was followed by pages filled with handwritten names. The ink that was sprawled out over the pages looked brown, but she also saw that a blue pen that had been used to cross out certain names, names of people who had encountered the vigilante, who had encountered him, Oliver. She felt her hands tremble again and forced herself to breathe evenly.  
  
“Felicity,” his voice was unfamiliarly gentle, and she knew he had noticed her distress. “I will make sure that none of this affects you again. I got a call while you were at the auction; there was a contract out, offering money for any information about what happened to me on the island, so long as I wasn’t seriously harmed. But that contract was withdrawn.”  
  
Her eyes had been glued to the notebook, but now she placed them on him. “How can it not affect me? I'm living with a man who's killing people.”  
  
“Only if there's no other way. Killing is always the last resort,” he said firmly, “but I will do whatever's necessary to keep my promise to my father.” He pressed his lips together for the barest moment, before he added, “If you want me to move out, I will.”  
  
Agitated, she shook her head. Trying to clear her head, to sort out what she was feeling, she gazed toward the ceiling that was spreading out far above her.  
  
“I will make sure that nothing like tonight ever happens again, Felicity. I will protect you and keep you safe.”  
  
Ripping her eyes down, she glared at him. “I don't want you to keep me safe, Oliver. I don't want you to come crashing through windows and rescue me. Because we're not living in some cheesy movie or re-enacting a dreamy teenage fantasy. This is reality, and all I really wanted my husband to do tonight was to go to this damn auction with me and stand next to me, looking handsome in a suit and having my back and making cursory small talk with the one percent of Starling City, including my ex. And I know we're not married _married_ , but _that_ kind of support would have been nice. All of this,” she gestured to the display of arrows with the notebook still in her hand. “I don't want any of this.” She was breathing a bit more heavily and felt the need to compose herself. “Damn it! Now I really wish we were home, so I could storm off and slam my bedroom door!”  
  
For a very long moment Oliver just looked at her, then he said, his voice soothing in its smallness, “I’ll take you home.”  
  
Her breathing still slightly accelerated, Felicity stared at Oliver. He simply stood there, unmoving, waiting for her to move or say something. She knew that, if she now told him she didn't want him in her life anymore, he would accept it. She had absolutely no doubt about that. As sure as she had been that he wouldn’t hurt her when they arrived outside, she was equally certain that he would leave her if she asked him to. She also didn't doubt that that would be the smart decision to make, on her part. But she didn't doubt either that doing so would still be a mistake. She couldn't do that, abandon him like that, when he so clearly needed help, when he was the worst case of PTSD she could think of, full of guilt and rage and compulsions, hidden behind an uncaring mask. But Felicity had seen the mask slip, she had seen him banter with her best friend and witnessed him join her in mourning of their son. She had seen past the mask and she liked the real him. She cared deeply about him. She wanted him to be okay.  
  
Felicity couldn't say when their lives had become so inseparably entwined, if it had been in a chapel in Las Vegas when they had said yes to each other or if it had been in her main room when they had bonded over an intense dinner conversation, or if it had been tonight when she had recognized the way he hugged her to his body, that feeling of safety like during the Firestorm shooting. She didn't know when it had started, but it had happened. For now they were connected by an invisible bond she hadn't known existed until tonight.  
  
He had found the worst way possible to deal with his guilt, but he had experienced things she couldn't even begin to comprehend. She knew better than anyone what people did to survive. For her it had been emotional survival, for him survival in the most literal physical sense. She didn't like what he did, couldn't approve of his methods, but she could understand that at the bottom of all of this was the wish to do good. It was simply misdirected. Pushing him away felt like the worst thing she could do in that situation, not when he so clearly needed somebody. He needed the home that he’d been lacking for so long.  
  
For another second she held his gaze, before she broke eye contact. Her heels clicked on the cement floor as she walked to the nearest desk and placed the notebook on top of it. Then she faced him. “We need to stop at a supermarket. I need ice cream, and we need to finally buy you some male shower gel. We really can't have the resident vigilante run around smelling like vanilla-almond.”


	12. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still ecstatic that the previous chapter was as well-received as I hoped. It would have been really awkward if it had left you cold after I kind of hyped it. ;-) Thank you to everybody who took the time to send me their support in all the different way this side offers. ❤
> 
> Dedicated to the awesome **Albiona** —who very rightfully mentioned that I use awesome a little bit too often. ;-)

**October 31** **th** **, 2012  
**   
Her family name was a title—and people took advantage of that every chance they got. There were the reporters thinking up lame puns involving crownings and reigns and royal screw-ups. There were the haters who called her Queen Bitch, the fashion bloggers who had labeled her Fashion Queen, and there was that strange collection of followers that called her and Thea “Starling City's royalty”—that probably now included Oliver, too. Felicity didn't care for any of these things, but there was one label she could live with, because she knew where it came from and that it was founded in fondness.  
  
She, Felicity Queen, CEO of Firestorm, Inc., was the Queen of the Nerds.  
  
Letting her eyes travel through the room, she took her assembled royal subjects in. The employees of Firestorm plus their families were spread out around the coding floor. After the shooting, Felicity had quickly contemplated changing locations for the party, but then she had just decided that it was best to dance the horrible incident away and replace the bad memories with good ones. And it seemed like everybody else agreed.  
  
Halloween was the highest holiday in the Firestorm year. Sure, they had their little gathering for Christmas, but Halloween was the time to party. It was a tradition founded in the very first year, when Yongtak had found out that Jerry was into cosplay and somehow it had spiraled from there.  
  
Her people went all out every year. Tonight, Marlon and James had coordinated and dressed up as the Fresh Prince and Carlton—so, that was awesome. Freddy had turned into a Gameboy, which was also amazing, but probably uncomfortable. Jenny had gone the classic route and dressed up as Hermoine, bringing her husband in full Ron get-up. She saw several knights and one Iron Man—of course, there couldn't be a nerdy party without at least one Avenger. Tonight there even were two, because Paige had dressed up as Black Widow, which Felicity should theoretically enjoy, but in practice it left her a little uneasy.  
  
After last night, she had more than enough of people dressing up in leather to fight evil.  
  
That was such a stupid sentence. Sadly, it was the absolute truth.  
  
She had barely slept last night. The mass amount of adrenaline still circling through her veins had mixed with her thoughts running full speed in all kinds of directions. One second she debated whether she had done the right thing, the next she tried to come up with a way to reason with Oliver so that he could see that what he was doing was misguided, no matter how good his intentions were. She went from cursing to worrying within seconds, only to then remember the way he had held her. Going down that metaphorical trail had ended with her seriously stepping on the breaks, because _that_ wouldn't be happening!  
  
It had been hours until she had finally fallen asleep. And she had woken once again to an empty apartment. He had come home for the night and the brewed coffee waiting for her this morning was a clear sign of his usual morning breakfast routine.  
  
She wondered what else was part of his routine that she didn't know about. Was he, right now, in that cellar sharpening his arrows? Was he deciding whom to target next? Was he practicing his archery? Was he.... She had no idea what else he could be doing. It all was too foreign to her.  
  
Felicity had dealt with the stress roiling inside her – and with the fact that she had inhaled a whole carton of Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream last night – the only way she knew how. Sadly, the workout had only helped a little.  
  
On the other hand, talking to John on the phone and finally believing that he would really be okay had helped a lot. John had the next week off to completely heal. His replacement – a man with the name Jacob Smith – had been waiting in front of her door to accompany her to Firestorm. Now Mr. Smith stood by the stairs trying to look all business, despite the fact that Yongtak had forced him to wear the devil's horns that had prettied up Lulu until she had lost her head.  
  
The party and the intense preparations had also helped to keep Felicity distracted. Even though her wonderful organizational genius Jerry shouldered most of the planning every year, Felicity always made it a point to help set things up. Jerry (looking amazing dressed up straight out of the latest Assassin's Creed) had gone all out. There were spiderwebs, skeletons, and pumpkins everywhere. And, of course, there weren't clumsily carved faces in the pumpkins illuminated by candles; no, the Firestorm pumpkins were the height of glorious geekitude with carvings of Lord Voldemort and Darth Vader and Gollum. It was insane. Felicity loved it.  
  
“What's up with you? You look like your eggs didn't make it out of the fire.”  
  
Coming back to the here and now, Felicity suddenly was faced with her worried best friend. “Sorry, I was just admiring everybody's costumes.” She smirked. “I'm kind of miffed that you and Tak actually did a couple's costume. I feel excluded.”  
  
“Well, I needed a Kanye and he was the only one I could think of willing to go for it.” Kristina said and adjusted the huge white fake fur stole that was part of her way too tight outfit that turned her into Kim Kardashian.  
  
Felicity couldn't help but laugh as she looked over to where her Number One was standing by the very spiked punch with those stupid white glasses he probably couldn't see a thing through. “He must be sweating like crazy in those leather pants.”  
  
Kristina laughed along and then said, “Dude, you gotta respect his trendsetting ability—once you do that everybody wins...” She lifted her punch-filled cup in a toasting manner and added, before taking a sip, “and gets a rash.”  
  
The two friends laughed. Kristina was the one turning serious first. “How are you, hon?”  
  
“I'm good.”  
  
“Really?” Kristina lifted an inquiring eyebrow. “After what happened last night you're just... good?”  
  
“Tina, I don't what to get into that right now.”  
  
“So, you're not good.” Felicity sighed, and Kristina took her best friend's hand in hers. “Felicity, it's okay that you're not okay. A guy threatened you with a gun and a guy with a bow threw him out of a window. That's a lot to process.”  
  
And that wasn't even all of it. Felicity sighed. “It is, but it's also crazy. It doesn't even seem real. So, I'm just trying to follow your advice and shake it off.”  
  
“That's good advice.” Kristina complimented herself, before she smirked. “Care to shake it off on the dance floor?”  
  
“Definitely,” Felicity promised, “but a little later. I see that Damian arrived with his wife and I want to say hi.”  
  
“I hate it when you're your office you. Always high on the attention and low on the booze.”  
  
“What can I say? I'm the boss of all those people.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, I know. The Khaleesi of the nerds.”  
  
_____________________________________________  
  
Talking to Laurel hadn't been easy. He had known that in advance, but she was the only lawyer he could think of and his research had shown that she was not only passionate about her job, but also very good at it. And Peter Declan needed a good lawyer, because Oliver was convinced of his innocence. He was sure that he was framed for the murder of his wife by a man whose name was very high on Oliver's list: Jason Brodeur.  
  
Laurel Lance had reacted as defensively and doubtfully as Oliver had expected her to, but he hoped to have made an impact with her anyway. Peter Declan only had forty-eight hours left. His execution was scheduled, the poison was at the ready, and Oliver needed somebody within the system to help him. Because he, for once, wanted to do this right, he wanted to right a wrong by saving one person, not by simply killing one.  
  
He had dropped all the information, all the evidence he could find, on Laurel's desk and had given her the number to a burner phone to contact him in case she needed help. It wasn't much, but it was all he could do for now. He would have to sit back and see if the legal system did its job. If not, he would have to step in, but not tonight.  
  
Tonight he had to make something up to somebody.  
  
With his bodyguard Rob in tow – for once the guy wouldn't be in his way, so Oliver had just decided to let him tag along – Oliver walked up the last steps and reached a familiar room he didn't really recognize. It was packed with people, all dressed up, talking, drinking, laughing, some dancing next to the office furniture to loud but not unbearable music. Red and orange spotlights were illuminating the room and perhaps a hundred candles were flicking through the carvings in pumpkins, which made the room incredibly hot and the air smell bad.  
  
Oliver found who he was looking for nearly instantly. Felicity was talking to a young woman, an orange cup with a spider painted on it in hand. Her skirt hung low on her hips and her top revealed her midriff in the front. The long, nearly white hair of her wig spilled out over her otherwise bare back. He had no idea who she was portraying, but she looked seriously sexy to him. His head tipped to the side, he granted himself a second to watch her laugh with the other woman, then he walked over to her.  
  
“Hey,” he greeted, “I hope I'm not interrupting.”  
  
He saw the surprise on her face and he wasn't sure that it was all positive, but she caught herself quickly. “Oliver, no.” She gave a little jerk of her head and corrected quickly, “I mean: you're not interrupting.” She added a “hi” and one of her fake smiles he didn't really like seeing. “Oliver, this is Katie, one of my graphic designing geniuses. Katie, this is Oliver, my husband.”  
  
“Katie, very nice to meet you.” Oliver said and smiled. “I hope I'm not getting this wrong, but you're a very impressive... ninja-pirate.”  
  
“Thank you,” Katie answered. “I think they are the ultimate assassins: sneaky and arrr-some.”  
  
Felicity laughed genuinely at this, and Oliver couldn't help but smirk, too, just because the sound of Felicity laughing was so nice.  
  
By now Katie was carefully watching him. “I'm sorry, who are you dressed as? James Bond?”  
  
“Oh,” Oliver said, “I came as somebody who returned from the dead.”  
  
That seemed to stun Katie and left her a little awkward, but once again Felicity laughed next to him. “That's what I call making the best out of a bad situation.”  
  
He winked at her and then gestured up and down her outfit. “And you? What are you dressed up as?”  
  
“I'm Khaleesi, Mother of Dragons, Queen of the Andals and... many more stuff I forgot. It's a character from a bad book series and an awesome TV show that's quite popular.”  
  
“Felicity dresses up as a different queen each year,” Katie chimed in.  
  
Oliver tipped his head and studied the woman he had married. “Oh?” he inquired. “You do?”  
  
“It was a stupid joke that first year, but it turned into a running gag.” Felicity actually blushed a little.  
  
“Last year she was Queen Elizabeth II,” Katie said and laughed at the memory. When she saw the non-understanding on Oliver's face she added, “The reigning Queen of England?”  
  
“Oh,” Oliver's eyes settle back on Felicity. “I think I prefer this costume.” He could see that this statement left her a little bit uncomfortable and he was proven right in the next moment when Felicity cleared her throat and very inelegantly changed topics. “Come on, Oliver, let's get you some punch.”  
  
After one last smile to Katie, she reached for his arm and steered him toward the refreshment tables. Standing next to him and making sure that the people around them were deep in their conversations, she finally placed curious eyes on him. Her voice soft and not accusing, she asked, “What are you doing here?”  
  
“I want to spend the evening with my wife, support her with small talk while looking good in a suit.”  
  
A sparkle of clear amusement lit in her eye, flooding him with relief. He had hoped that she would take it like that, as a light little peace offering. He took a step toward her, into her personal space, and said quietly, “I know that those are your people and you don't need me here, but I want you to know that I will always have your back, Felicity.”  
  
He saw clear understanding in her eyes, maybe mixing with remembrance.  
  
Oliver also remembered; he remembered her best friend's words perfectly, they were always in the back of his head. It wasn't her empty threat—that hadn't had much of an impact. It was Kristina's insistence that Felicity was “finally in a good place” that had really struck a chord with him. He wanted her to stay there, wanted her to continue being good. But last night, as he had lain in bed, he’d realized how right it felt that Felicity knew his secret. He felt a little lighter somehow, like some of the weight was gone. He’d slept better than he had in the last five years. And this morning, when he had sat at the dining table eating his cereal and watching the sun rise over the city skyline he loved so much, he had realized that he felt at home in the apartment, in _their_ apartment. He felt at home with Felicity. He had done the only thing he could think of right then: he had fled the apartment, racing to his lair full speed while shaking off Rob.  
  
It hadn't been until he had gone up and down the salmon latter one hour later that he admitted to himself that he liked having a home, that he enjoyed being with Felicity, that he wanted to continue being with her, that he wanted to stay close to her and not put any distance between them. But he couldn't be selfish about this. Just because she made him feel better didn't mean that he should make her feel worse. He needed to be there for her, too; he needed to tell her that.  
  
And since Oliver didn't know how to do that, how to put all of this into the right words, he had just put on his best suit and come to her party in hopes that she understood everything that he was trying to tell her.  
  
The smile on her face gave him hope that she might have at least understood parts of it.  
  
“HUBBY!” Kristina suddenly popped up next to him and threw her arms around him. “You came!” She was obviously tipsy. She had been most of the times he had met her, he noticed now, and wondered if that was worth worrying about.  
  
“Of course,” he said when Kristina let go of him, “after I was so wonderfully invited.”  
  
Kristina let her eyes travel over him. “You’re not James Bond, he always wears a bowtie. John Draper? No, he always wears grey suits....” She hesitated, before she sent a blank stare his way. “You're just a guy in a suit, looking good while we're all sweating under our fake fur, aren't you?”  
  
“No,” Felicity objected, “Oliver's a guy returned from the dead—in a suit.”  
  
“Wow, that's dark,” she nodded appreciatively at Oliver. “Well played, hubby, well played.”  
  
“I love a hot guy in a suit as much as the next guy, but I think you should have gone the couple's costume route, too.” Yongtak called from his position by the punch bowl and held a punch-filled cup out for Oliver. “Imagine him in Khal Drogo getup! How hot would that be?”  
  
Kristina nodded enthusiastically. “That's Kanye-Tak dropping truth bombs right there!”  
  
“Tina here,” Felicity said now and placed her arm around her best friend's shoulder while looking at Oliver, “is dressed up as—”  
  
“Kim Kardashian,” Oliver cut her off and finished her sentence at the same time. Seeing the surprised faces, he explained, “I've been catching up. It's nice to know how our culture improved while I was away.”  
  
The others laughed and Oliver couldn't help but enjoy their reaction. Kristina was about to say something, when her face suddenly turned sour. “God!” She groaned. “Who's the DJ?! Excuse me, I need to tell him about the Rihanna ban.”  
  
Yongtak looked shocked. “What?! You cannot ban Rihanna! She's a goddess.”  
  
“I thought Beyoncé’s the goddess of the gays,” Kristina shot back. “Isn't _Single Ladies_ your empowerment song?”  
  
Felicity gestured between them. “Uh oh, I sense trouble in Kimye paradise.”  
  
“I will end this Rihanna reign!” Kristina declared and stomped away while perfectly matching the beat of _Diamonds_.  
  
Yongtak followed her instantly. “OH NO, you will not!”  
  
Felicity watched them leave and then turned to Oliver, smiling, “Aren't you happy you came?”  
  
Oliver met her eyes. “Yes,” he answered truthfully. “I really am.”  
_____________________________  
  
This was the reason the Khaleesi didn't wear high heels, they must be the worst possible footwear while trying to cross a desert. But Felicity loved her stiletto heels: they made her feel taller than she really was. The added height brought her more to eye level with most of the members of the old-men-club who ruled this city. Plus: the heels shaped her legs and forced her posture upright. Felicity felt more confident and pretty wearing them—which was always an important matter for a Queen to have settled. Jerry, always the perfectionist, had argued that black high heels would ruin the authenticity of the outfit, but Felicity had for once ignored her EA.  
  
As she followed Oliver into their apartment late that night, though, she wished she’d have listened. She closed the door, instantly slipped her heels off, and let them drop to the floor. After taking her coat off and draping it over the cabinet she pulled off the horrible, scratchy wig.  
  
Oliver spoke up, “I know that it's late, but... do you have a moment to talk?” He tried the barest smile and gestured toward the bedroom door. “If you want to storm off and slam doors you can do that tonight.”  
  
Still holding on to her white wig, Felicity slowly nodded. She was exhausted, but she knew that he was right. They had left things kind of hanging last night, and while him coming to her party was a nice gesture, they should probably use some actual words to clear things up. “Yes,” she said, “sure.”  
  
Oliver entered the main room first. With quick steps he walked toward the center of the room and then he stopped, turning into the stiff and stony statute she had seen him become quite often since his return to Starling. She sensed that he didn't really know how to handle this so she walked toward the dining table, sank down on a chair, and looked at him, waiting for him to say something. He had been the one to initiate this conversation, so he should actually start it.  
  
“I want you to know that I went to Laurel tonight.”  
  
Okay, Felicity had expected him to say many things, but that wasn't one of them. She did a mental and a visible double take. “What?”  
  
“I went to Laurel, because I need her help. I need her to take up a case and keep an innocent man from getting executed.”  
  
“Are you telling me that you went to her dressed up as The Hood?”  
  
“I really dislike that nickname.”  
  
“Answer my question.”  
  
“I did.” His body was all tension. He was obviously expecting her to blow. Tentatively, he added, “I wanted to be the one to tell you.”  
  
Hesitatingly, she nodded. She didn't know what to make of this, why he felt the need to tell her. She wasn't even sure if she wanted to know all the things he did when he donned the hood. As soon as that thought entered her mind, she realized how stupid it was. Denial had never done her any good—facing things head on, on the other hand, had always done wonders for her. She imagined Oliver standing in front of Laurel all dressed up and ready to do hood-y stuff, and suddenly she knew perfectly what to say. “Did she recognize you?”  
  
“No.” Oliver saw the way she tipped her head at him and stressed, “I am absolutely sure: she didn't know it was me.”  
  
“We need to get you a voice scrambler. I’ll take care of that.” Hearing those sentences, which were once again not approved by her brain, Felicity flinched. What was she saying here? She must have lost her mind!  
  
Absolute silence followed her statement. Oliver looked stunned, but by the expression that crossed his face she was sure that he had noticed that she had managed to shock herself with her own words. Sighing heavily, Felicity gestured toward the seat opposite to her. “Would you please sit down? It makes me nervous if you keep standing there.”  
  
He didn't follow her request immediately, but after another few heartbeats of hesitation he did as she had asked. Felicity felt slightly awkward, sitting there in her stupid costume, and she grew a little nervous because she wasn't exactly sure how he'd take what she wanted to tell him next. Fumbling with her fingers, playing with the awful wig she was still holding, she said, “I care about you, Oliver. I know that you've experienced horrible things, and I know that you believe you're doing good—”  
  
“I am doing good,” Oliver insisted. “This man, Peter Declan, was framed for murder, I’m sure of it. His wife was killed and now he's to be executed for it. Don't tell me that's not an injustice.”  
  
“It is—”  
  
“And it's the fault of one of my father's friends, of a man whose name is on the list!” He sat ramrod straight in the chair, his voice hard. “Those people need to be stopped, Felicity. And I'm not afraid to do what needs to be done. I'm willing to go where policemen and lawyers can't. I gave Laurel all the evidence. I want the justice system to try and correct its mistake, but if it doesn't I will not stand by and watch an innocent man die. I won't. Not again.”  
  
“Oliver, I know that witnessing your father—”  
  
“My father wasn't innocent,” he cut in, “far from it!” He shoved his chair back and got up. “I would appreciate your help with technical stuff, but it's okay if you don't want to get involved. I think it would probably even be better if you didn't. But I'm still glad that you know the truth, because I trust you, Felicity. I'm thankful for everything you're doing for me. I'm thankful that I can call this my home, our home, but if you're too uncomfortable with what I'm doing I'll move out and put some space between us, because I need to keep targeting the list, I need to do this. But I also need you to be okay, because I, too, care about you.”  
  
With that he turned around and walked away. She watched him leave the main room and continued staring to where he disappeared until she heard the door of the guest room, of his room, click shut. That sound brought back her ability to move. She blinked stupidly and then she swallowed heavily, because that was both the best and the worst thing he could have said.


	13. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, people, I feel like we need to speed things up a little to get some things done and move the plot along. I hope you agree. Thank you all very much for all the love you send my way. I send it right back, because you're awesome!
> 
> Albiona = ❤ (aka basic math I can handle.)

**November 7** **th** **, 2012  
  
** That voice scrambling thing was the best gift he had ever gotten. Two days after Halloween, after two days Felicity and he had spent avoiding each other completely, he had found it on the dining room table in the same spot where he sat every morning to eat his breakfast. At first he hadn't understood what it was or what to do with it, but Felicity had left a hand-written note, which contained nothing but basic instructions on how to attach it to his jacket and how to work it. Basically, it was an impersonal manual in handwriting, but it also was one of the best versions of a letter he had ever gotten.  
  
Because he knew: it was her version of showing up at a party in a suit.  
  
Oliver had understood all that this gesture, this gift meant, and he had been left a little uneasy by the emotions it awoke in him. He was really happy about this, really relieved.  
  
He was sure that Felicity had given him the devise to make sure his voice wouldn't give him away, but it also had a side-effect Oliver really enjoyed. It made his voice sound really threatening. He had seen the reaction to his modified voice quite often in the last few days—and he had to say that it was not the worst thing to witness.  
  
He had witnessed it had again only a few minutes ago. Leo Müller, the German arms dealer, had visibly stiffened when the Hood had told him that he had failed this city. Now he was laying at The Hood’s feet, killed by one of the weapons he had wanted to flood the Glades with. But his bodyguards were still alive, groaning all around him as they lay on the floor, twisting in pain.  
  
Making sure he hadn't missed anything or anyone, the Hood glanced around the room. In the distance he could hear sirens howling. The sound was coming closer and brought a clear message: It was time to get out of here. He could scratch another name of his list.  
  
  
  
**November 10** **th** **, 2012  
  
** Felicity liked to serve bad news with something sweet. Sugar-coating a bitter blow never worked, she knew that from firsthand experience. Yet she had taken up that stupid habit from her mother, who had told her that she had cancer over a big plate full of waffles with hot cherries and whipped cream.  
  
That had been the last time Felicity had eaten either of those things.  
  
Muffins in hand, she entered Walter Steele's office. “Walter,” she greeted with a soft smile, “how was your trip to Australia? I've always wanted to go. Down under. It's just... I have this thing about kangaroos. More of a phobia. They wig me out. They look evil, and I'm sure their picture's up on everything everywhere in that country.”  
  
A smile on his face Walter Steele got up from his seat behind his desk. “Not on everything, but it's hard to escape them, yes. Hello, Felicity, it's good to see you.”  
  
He had been the first to simply accept her rambles, to not make her feel awkward about them. It was part of the reason why she liked Walter so much, he had always been nice to her, had always believed in her, had always made sure she lived up to the potential he believed her to have. He was a father figure that had been missing from her life for years. God, how she dreaded what she had to do next. Forcing a smile to her face, she lifted the paper bag she had in hand. “I brought muffins. Blueberry, because... you know, vitamins.”  
  
“That is very kind of you,” Walter said and gestured for her to take a seat in a really bulky brown leather seat. “The last time you brought me something sweet – cupcakes, if I recall correctly – you asked me if QC was interested in investing in you.” He sat down himself. “So, I sense that you have another rather serious conversation in mind.”  
  
She was too transparent. She really needed to stop being such a creature of habit. She fumbled with the paper bag.  
  
“How are things with Oliver?”  
  
Walter's question ripped Felicity out of her frantic search for a good way to start a conversation she didn't want to have. It caused her to mentally step on the breaks. “Things are good.” She saw the look on her mentor's face, saw the curiosity mix with skepticism, and finally let go of the paper bag, placing it on the table in front of her and relaxing a little in her chair. “I must admit that we had to get used to each other, we still have to, I guess. But I like him.”  
  
Walter chuckled. “That is good starting ground for a marriage.” He raised an inquiring eyebrow. “Thea told me that he comes to Firestorm regularly and that you two share lunch.”  
  
That had been a development of the last week. That first day he had come with Chinese take-out and the knowledge that she had one hour between meetings off. That had also been the day Felicity learned that Oliver had gotten Jerry's number at the Halloween party. He had brought pizza the next day and then it had been sushi. It had been nice, sitting in her office with him, making it a point to talk about ordinary stuff and be relaxed. She really enjoyed their “casual hour,” as she had come to call it, even if she now had to deal with an increase of paparazzi in front of the Firestorm headquarters. Tak, of course, loved the attention; other employees weren't as happy. Maybe, she'd have to ask Oliver to limit his visits again....  
  
“We do,” she told Walter. “We're still working things out and that's part of it, I guess. We realized that we care about each other.”  
  
It was the truth, and Walter Steele accepted it with a nod.  
  
Felicity took a deep breath. “I've come here to tell you what I found out regarding the 2.6 million dollars.”  
  
Instantly, Walter's posture stiffened. His eyes flew to the office door, but it was firmly closed, Felicity had made sure of that. She cleared her throat and, needing to get things out, spoke very quickly, “The company Moira invested in doesn't exist. The money was used to set up an offshore LLC called Tempest, which isn't part of the Queen Consolidated Group—or anything else for that matter. There's nothing registered with the Secretary of State, no federal tax records, no patent applications filed. But in 2009, Tempest purchased—”  
  
“Felicity, let me stop you right there.” Water's posture was stiff, his voice held a certain amount of tension as he said, “I spoke to Moira about this, and I am afraid I was a little quick to jump to unwarranted conclusions before. I am grateful that you devoted some of your time to researching this matter, but it has already been resolved.”  
  
“Resolved,” Felicity repeated in confusion.  
  
“Yes, Moira explained her actions to me.”  
  
“And what could that explanation be?”  
  
“Something that's none of your business,” Walter said in a tone Felicity had never heard him use before. “Is that clear?”  
  
“Crystal.” That was the absolute truth, because, really, Felicity saw right through it.  
  
  
  
**November 14** **th** **, 2012  
  
** Those who hadn't noticed the line of people carrying bags filled with food into the lunch room had simply followed the smell.  
  
More and more Firestorm employees were coming down from the second and the third floor to see what was going on and watch the delivery guys set up.  
  
“What's this?”  
  
Oliver turned toward the voice and dug his brain for the name of the girl who’d asked him that. He had met her at the party, but she had been in full costume then and she had been... “Katie.” He smiled. “I know the constant paparazzi siege is hard and I wanted to make it up to all of you with lunch.” He motioned toward the tables filled with food. “We have Italian and Thai. I hope you enjoy.” He smiled at the collected people, dismissed the collective thank you politely, enjoyed that people seemed to honestly appreciate his gesture, and left the room to climb the stairs to the top floor, where many desks were still filled with working people.  
  
“If anybody of you are hungry,” he said as he crossed the room, “there's lunch in the break room. Help yourselves, before it gets cold.” He reached Jerry's desk, strategically placed in front of Felicity's office, and placed one of the two bags he was still carrying onto it.  
  
“Mr. Queen,” Jerry looked up from his sitting position behind his desk, “that's really not necessary.”  
  
“I know—and once again: please, call me Oliver.” He glanced to the closed office door. “Is she busy?”  
  
“A spontaneous meeting with Damian regarding stock exchange development.”  
  
“Is that good or bad?”  
  
In that moment the door opened and Damian James, Firestorm's CFO, left the CEO office. He looked pleased, which made Oliver strangely pleased as well. The two men nodded at each other and Oliver took his last remaining bag and walked into Felicity's office.  
  
She sat behind her desk, facing her computer monitor, but placed her attention on him as he entered. A small smile appeared on her face and he honestly enjoyed her reaction. “Oliver,” she greeted, “let me send an e-mail real quick.”  
  
“Sure,” he said, closed the door and walked to the sitting area. When Felicity joined him he had already spread boxes filled with food across the table. He handed Felicity a fork – the first time he had only brought chopsticks, which meant Felicity went to her next meeting with a stain on her dress – and sat down opposite her.  
  
“Thanks for coming by today,” she said. “I can really use a break.”  
  
“I sense more than the usual stressful workday.”  
  
“Somebody tried to hack us last night.”  
  
“Tried?”  
  
“Oh, they failed! All thanks to Tak. He implemented some additional security measures last month that've really proven themselves. I'm thinking about using them as a basis for a new security software. I think we can make it mass compatible with just little tweaking. We just need the bios—” She shook her head and sent him a small smile, “I'm sorry. I don't want to bore you.”  
  
“You're not boring me. I have no idea what bios are, but you're not boring me.” He reached for a box filled with Panaeng. “But Damian looked happy.”  
  
“Yeah.” Felicity made a face. “Apparently, the stock market reacts positively if you ward off hacker attacks.” She reached for the box with steamed vegetables – Oliver would have bet that she would choose this one first – and she pointed at his spicy meat in spicy coconut cream. “I don't know how you can eat that. It makes my mouth burn.”  
  
“I’ve come to like spicy food. Thai needs to be spicy.”  
  
“Oh,” Felicity playfully mocked, “didn't know you were such an expert on Thai food.” Oliver just smiled and said nothing, while Felicity forked the first broccoli. “Just so you know: after work I'll go to Tina's. Things with her surgeon finally, officially burst into flames. She called me this morning in tears and one minute later Tak stormed in with his hair all messed up.” She sighed and brought the fork to her mouth. “That was a bad way to start the day.”  
  
“That really doesn't sound good,” Oliver agreed. “I don't mean to add any more stress, but I have a favor to ask you.”  
  
“What favor?”  
  
“Did you hear about the bank robbery?”  
  
“The one where the police man was shot? Sure, it's all over the news.”  
  
“I think I know who's responsible, but I need some more information. Until now all I have is a name.”  
  
She let her fork sink as she looked at him.  
  
“I'm sorry,” he said. “It's just that my internet research came up empty and I could use your help in digging up a little bit more.”  
  
“A little bit more than nothing?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Her eyes rested on him while he could see her trying to come to a conclusion—and he could also see when she did and immediately he knew what her answer would be. She gave it to him in the form of a question. “What's the bank robber's name?”  
  
  
  
**November 17** **th** **, 2012  
  
** The Hood had failed Derek Reston.  
  
The death of the desperate family man, who had been wronged by the Queen family, had never been part of the plan. He had given Derek Reston a chance to do the right thing, but the man had ignored it, had turned it down as pitiful charity that was beneath him. When the former steel worker had made that decision Oliver had known that he had to stop him, keep him from robbing another bank and hurting, possibly even killing an innocent victim. But stopping him had never involved killing him. An elongated stay in jail—that had been Oliver's plan for the man and his bank robbing family. And then he had been forced to watch Derek Reston bleed out on the floor of the bank after getting hit by the gunshot that had been meant to hit his son.  
  
The man had literally taken the bullet for his son—just like his own father had taken a bullet for Oliver.  
  
Oliver had seen many people die, he had killed many people himself, but this death that he had tried to prevent and that had not been his fault weighed down on his conscious. His steps felt heavy as he entered the apartment, carelessly threw his keycard on the cabinet and hung his jacket on the coatrack he had bought, because he hated Felicity's habit of just draping her coats over the nearest thing available.  
  
A soft light was coming from the main room. It was way past midnight, but it was Saturday so it wasn't unusual that Felicity was still up. He heard no laughter or giggling, which meant that Kristina most likely wasn't there. He was strangely relieved by that, because he really wasn't in the mood for her exuberant easiness when he felt like being extremely difficult and wanted to be left alone.  
  
“Oliver?” Felicity's questioning voice came from the main room.  
  
“Yes,” he answered and walked around the corner. Next to the only lit lamp Felicity sat on the couch in her comfortable clothes—a lounger and a tank top, a casual sight Oliver absolutely loved seeing. She had her feet pulled up and a book was resting on her knees. Adjusting her glasses she took him in for a second. “You look really beat. What happened?”  
  
The urge to just give her a dismissive “nothing” was overwhelming, but that would be a lie, and he had stopped lying to Felicity the evening she had found out his ultimate secret. “Derek Reston died tonight. He was shot by a security guard.”  
  
Compassion audible in her voice, Felicity said, “I'm sorry.” He stood stiffly and accepted her compassion, though he didn't want it. There was no need for her to be compassionate about any of this. He had just opened his mouth to tell her good night and go to his room when she patted the couch next to her, “Have a seat.”  
  
He hesitated before he dared to give in and accept that he didn't really want to hide in his room. She put the book on the coffee table and turned to him as he sank down next to her, resting his head back.  
  
“You know, I was surprised that you looked into the robberies,” Felicity stated. “That doesn't seem to mix with your to-do-list, but I like that you did. I think that's doing some actual good for this city.”  
  
“I met the wife of the injured policeman by accident.” He sighed. “It made me want to do something about it.”  
  
“But ultimately it once again ended up being about your father.” Surprised, Oliver's eyes snapped to Felicity who was looking at him with a soft expression on her face. “I saw how the stuff I dug up about Reston affected you, Oliver.”  
  
That was the truth. It had affected him. Anger—of course he had been angry, that was kind of a given, he was nearly always angry. But there had also been an unfamiliar form of desperation haunting him. He had been hellbent to make up for the things his father had done, to make it up to Reston. He had failed. And now he was left feeling defeated while the anger was as prominent as ever. “Reston told me that my father gave a speech at the factory in which he promised that there was no way that QC would move production to China.” He shook his head in aggravation and disgust. “Proved what a big liar my father was. He never was the man I believed him to be.” His voice was turning harder with each word he spoke. “Here I am, targeting the list, trying to right my father's wrongs, but he really wronged Derek Reston and his family and now I let them down, too.”  
  
“Oliver,” Felicity placed her hand on his thigh, “you're not responsible for the business decisions your father made or for Reston's decision to become a criminal or for a security guard pressing the trigger. You have so much guilt weighing you down, don't add this to it when there's no reason to.”  
  
He didn't know what to say to that, because he didn't think that she was completely right. He knew that his talk with Reston in the bar hadn't been a good idea. He hadn't found the right words to get through to him, he hadn't—  
  
Felicity's voice cut into his self-loathing thoughts. “You say going after the guys on that list is the way to honor your dad? Well, if your dad could have seen you, the way you cared about the people he hurt, the way you stepped up to try to help them, I'm very sure that he'd be proud. That's all pretty honorable in my book.” She smiled and tightened her grip on his thigh. “I know I was pretty anti about your crusade, but this thing, you stopping the bank robbers—I am glad that I could be a part of that.”  
  
He didn't know what to say to her. Slowly, he covered her hand with his. The smile was still on her lips, “You did all you could, Oliver. You did good.”  
  
Again, he didn't completely agree with her, but he appreciated her words, her support. In an effort to tell her that, he squeezed her hand while he met her eyes. Silence sank over them, but that only lasted a second before it was shredded by the ringing of the telephone. Felicity flinched and in her surprise practically jumped off the couch to hurry to the phone. “Yes?”  
  
He watched her face twist in annoyance as she listened to whatever the person on the other end of the line was telling her. When she finally spoke up again her voice sounded like a sigh, “Send them up, please.” She hung up and turned to Oliver. “Tommy's downstairs with Thea. She's completely wasted.”  
  
Groaning, Oliver let his head fall against the backrest again and rubbed his hands over his face. Just what he needed to crown this horrible fucking day!  
  
Felicity was already standing by the opened door when Oliver joined her in time to see Tommy lead his little sister out of the elevator. Her arm was draped across Tommy's shoulder and she was wobbling on her high heels. Oliver hated seeing his baby sister like this. His annoyance was written all over his face as he looked at Tommy, silently asking him what the fuck had happened.  
  
“Don't look at me like that!” the other man defended. “I was sure they'd card her at the bar.”  
  
“Yeah, right,” Felicity scoffed, “because nobody knows that Thea Queen is seventeen.”  
  
“Fecily!” Thea's eyes lit up. Letting go of Tommy she swayed toward her sister-in-law. “I did it all for a good cause. Best kinda charity!” What followed was probably supposed to be a hug, but it ended with Thea practically falling onto Felicity, who quickly turned her head – mostly her nose – away to avoid Thea's breath.  
  
Oliver couldn't blame her for that; Thea smelled like a distillery. He glared at Tommy who held his hands up in surrender.  
  
“Okay,” Felicity said and glanced toward Mrs. McKenna's door, “let's not do this in the hall.” She led Thea inside and the men followed.  
  
When he had closed the door, Oliver turned to his best friend. “What happened?”  
  
“I don't know, honestly.” Tommy sighed. “I organized this fundraiser for the City Necessary Resources Initiative and....” He looked apologetic and slightly ashamed. “I'm sorry, I didn't invite you. I started this annual fundraiser a few years ago when I tried to impress Laurel and she started getting involved with the CNRI. And she asked me not to invite you, because you'd bring Felicity and—”  
  
“Tommy,” Oliver interrupted, “believe me, I am totally okay with you not inviting us to the fundraiser. What's not okay is the state my little sister's in.”  
  
“OH, SHUT UP!” Thea was standing in the entrance leading to the main room, holding on to the wall for support. She was glaring at Oliver with fire in her eyes and not even the way she slurred her words could hide her anger. “You don't get to come back after five years and act all brother-y. You don't get to come back and judge us all the time.”  
  
“Thea,” Felicity reached for the younger girl, but she shook her hands off.  
  
“NO! He doesn't know what we've been through. Me and mom and you! He has no right to be like that. Esh-pally when he doesn't want to spend time with us anyway.” She laughed bitterly. “Us meaning mom and me, because he does spend time with you, Fellity. Proba-lly because you put out.”  
  
“Thea,” Oliver tried, but she just turned to face him while nearly falling in the process.  
  
“You mighta just stayed DEAD!” she yelled. “It's like you're not here anyways! And when you are you SUCK!”  
  
Oliver felt like she had hit him—and not some slap in face, but a really heavy blow right into his stomach. Her words had gutted him in the worst way, because he knew that she had a point; there was some truth to her accusations—in fact, the only thing she was wrong about was Felicity putting out, but he would lie if he denied the rest. Guilt joined the ever-present anger. Willing the emotion to stay inside, Oliver pressed his lips together as his thumb connected with his index finger in a subconscious gesture.  
  
Thea stood opposite him, swaying and breathing heavily. The Queen siblings stared at each other while a deadly silence surrounded them. It was ended by Thea. “Oh gosh, Imma be sick.” She brought her hand to her mouth.  
  
“Not here!” Felicity ordered and pulled Thea to the bathroom down the hall, the one next to the improvised gym.  
  
Oliver stared after the two females unmoving, not even the bathroom door being slammed shut could startle him.  
  
“She doesn't mean it.”  
  
Slowly Oliver turned to face Tommy, who looked at him with pity in his eyes. “Oh, yes,” Oliver objected, not wanting the pity, “she does.”  
  
“I'm honestly sorry. I didn't notice until she was way too drunk,” Tommy apologized.  
  
Oliver was angry the other man, because he had let this happen. But at the same time he knew that he was blaming the wrong person. Nothing of what was wrong with Thea was Tommy's fault. He forced himself to stay calm, unaffected. “It's okay. I apologize for snapping at you.”  
  
“I just thought I should bring her here and not to the mansion, but I see now that that was a mistake.”  
  
“No, it wasn't. I'm glad you brought her here.”  
  
Tommy shifted his weight uncomfortably. “About the fundraiser....”  
  
Annoyance mixed with the guilt and the anger, because – really – Oliver had better things to worry about than if his friend did or did not invite him to a party he needed to bring a hefty check to. He had had the worst evening anyway, adding another event he had to sneak away from was the last thing he’d needed. But his friend didn't know that. His friend believed him to still be into everything he himself was. He didn’t know that Oliver couldn't care less, that Oliver wished he could have spent the evening home with Felicity while she read her book and looked adorable in her casual clothes. This last thought made him so uncomfortable that he had to bury it deep.  
  
“Don't worry,” he hurried to say, “Felicity and I really needed a quiet evening in.” Or he could just go and turn it into a helpful cover story. That also took some of the intensity of it away.  
  
“I hate that our girls don't get along.” Tommy looked honestly pained. “Maybe, we could go and have dinner, somewhere public where they have to behave. We could just run into each other by accident.”  
  
That was the worst idea ever, if you asked Oliver. But his friend looked so uncomfortable that he couldn't tell him that. Oliver had caused enough hurt and pain for one day. “Sure,” he said, which he believed was enough agreement while still being adequately vague, and quickly changed the subject. “The meeting with the building regulatory agency is on Monday, right?”  
  
“Yes, ten a.m. I hope everything'll go smoothly, so we can finally start remodeling. I need the club to open.”  
  
Oliver nodded. It was all he could bring himself to do to match his friend's excited expression.  
  
“I should get going,” Tommy said and brought his hand up to pat the other man's shoulder. “Thea's a teenager, Ollie. Remember how we were at her age.”  
  
“I do. That's what worries me.”  
  
“She'll come around. After all, we did, too.”  
  
Oliver didn't feel like telling his friend that he had needed two years on an island and three more years away from his old life to come around. So he just accepted the comfort with a nod, which was basically a well-hidden dismissal. But maybe Tommy took it exactly that way, because next he gestured toward the door. “I should go.”  
  
The men said their goodbyes, both promising to be on time on Monday – Oliver wasn't worried about that: ten a.m. was practically in the afternoon – and then Tommy left.  
  
Closing the door carefully, Oliver stood in the hall. Silence surrounded him. He heard his own blood rush in his ears and dimmed sounds coming from the other end of the hall. Feeling even more tired than he had been when he had first come home, he walked toward the bathroom. As much as he wished to just go to his room and lock the door, he knew that it would be mean to dump his drunken sister on Felicity. Reluctantly, he pressed the door handle down and peeked into the bathroom. Thea was holding on to the toilet bowl and retched while Felicity stooped beside her. The smell of puke and evaporated alcohol was heavy in the air. It was disgusting.  
  
Felicity rubbed comforting circles on Thea's back with one hand, the other holding back Thea’s brown long, wavy hair. That was Oliver's cue to enter the bathroom, too. Felicity didn't have to do that, comfort his sister. That was Oliver's job, because it was Oliver's fault.  
  
He had just closed the door behind himself, hoping the stink wouldn’t spread, when Felicity flushed and Thea practically collapsed on the floor. She looked horrible, her eyes were red from tears she had shed and that had taken her heavy eye makeup with them. Black streaks were running down her cheeks, pale as the rest of her face. With the back of her hand she now wiped her running nose. Her eyes were glued to Felicity, which was why Oliver knew that his sister's next words weren't meant for him. “I'm so sorry.”  
  
Felicity looked at the younger girl sitting on the floor. “It's okay, Thea. You'll have a hangover that'll punish you.”  
  
Thea shook her head, but stopped quickly as the movement made her wince. “No, Feelity. I'm sorry how I treated you.”  
  
“Thea, you didn't—”  
  
“I DID!” She objected way too loudly. “I didn't know what happened exactly back then. But after mom said those things to Ollie I asked her... and I should’ve been there. I am so sorry, I didn't want to be around you back then. I was just so—”  
  
“Thea,” Felicity sank down to the floor next the other girl and stopped her from adding more. “You did nothing wrong. You were a little girl, you did all you could. You were right to not be around me, it was the right decision. Please,” she brought her hand to the other girl's face, “let this guilt go. I’m not mad at you.”  
  
Thea started crying. “But I'm mad at myself. I hate what I did. You were my friend when Ollie was lost, you gave me hope. And mom, you gave mom hope. And I let you down.”  
  
“No, you didn't.” Felicity reached for Thea and hugged her. Oliver felt a lump in his throat that was so huge that it seemed to be clogging his airway, stripping him of the ability to breathe. His index finger rubbed over his thumb as he stood there and watched. The way his baby sister sobbed against Felicity's chest tore at him, made him want to sob along, but he was too shaken to actually do so. He just stood there frozen to the spot and didn't know what to do. He felt like an intruder and like he shouldn't be here at all, while at the same time he knew that he should act, comfort his sister, stop being an observing bystander and start being an active participant. But he was reduced to watching Felicity do what he should be doing. She was holding his sister and stroking her back.  
  
“I hate how we are,” Thea sobbed. It was really hard to understand what she was saying, her voice was so laced with tears. “Our family is so fucked up. People call us royalty, but we are just royally fucked up.”  
  
“We are,” Felicity agreed. Oliver only realized that he was actually nodding agreement to her statement, when Felicity's eyes settled on him. She sent him a small smile that made him feel caught.  
  
“Mom cried after Ollie blamed her for everything,” Thea informed them and the lump in Oliver's throat grew even more, slowly starting to make him feel sick. “He didn't apologize, didn't even come 'round.” Really, Oliver could feel the bile creeping up to his throat, because he was just so sick of himself!  
  
“He didn't?” Felicity's eyes mirrored the negative surprise she felt. They were still resting on him, “You didn't?” He didn't get to answer when Felicity continued, using a tone Oliver had come to realize equaled Felicity meaning business. “Okay, that's it. I was thinking about it for weeks, but now it's settled. We're having a Queen-Thanksgiving dinner.”  
  
Oliver stared at her and didn't even really notice Thea letting go of Felicity, looking equally stunned. Brother and sister, in pure disbelief, asked in unison, “What?!”  
  
“This family needs some quality time and I'll make sure that we get it.”  
  
Thea stared at Felicity for another moment, before she angled her head over the toilet bowl. Another surge of puke hit the porcelain. That was a pretty fitting reaction actually, if you asked Oliver.


	14. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot say how amazed I am by all of you wonderful people. Your utter awesomeness is leaving me speechless. I am really glad that so many of you understand why I'm taking things slowly with this story and that I'm trying to build a foundation for Oliver and Felicity to base their relationship on. Thanks for being supportive of this slow-burn and for being on board. ♥ And I promise: we're getting there!
> 
> As always: love to Albiona!

**November 22 nd 2012**  
  
This was the biggest mistake of her life.  
  
And that was coming from a girl who had gotten drunk and married a stranger.  
  
And yet, Felicity stood by that statement, because nothing could be a bigger mistake than insisting to host Thanksgiving dinner for five people, including her opinionated mother-in-law, when you were the worst cook in the history of cooking.  
  
Oliver's disbelieving question as to why she hadn't just ordered catering really hadn't been helpful. In fact, as she stood in the kitchen with a gigantic turkey that – for reasons way beyond Felicity – wasn't gutted and Oliver dared to ask her that incredibly unhelpful thing, she threw a potato at him—or, rather, past him. She had horrible aim.  
  
But, damn, his reflexes were impressive.  
  
Thank God, or her lamp would've been history.  
  
Felicity knew that they would have been forced to order pizza if Valentina Asimov hadn’t swooped in and saved the day. Originally, Oliver had hired her as their new cleaning lady, claiming that she worked for a company that had very strict and clear rules when it came to professional discretion. As it turned out, the Russian woman was also a master in preparing a classic American feast. Felicity had been reduced to becoming her minion, but she really didn't mind. It was the first time her kitchen had been used for serious cooking, and it was awesome.  
  
“I can't thank you enough, Mrs. Asimov,” Felicity said as the older woman reached for her coat.  
  
“It's not a problem, Mrs. Queen. Next time you can do it on your own.”  
  
Never! Next time Felicity would just get a caterer. But Valentina was smiling at her so happily that she didn't dare to object. “Yes,” she lied, “you're a very good teacher. Don't worry, I won't take credit for this.”  
  
“Oh, I don't mind.” She smiled again. “Have a nice Thanksgiving with your family.”  
  
“You, too. Thank you again,” Felicity said, making a mental note to buy this woman the best Christmas gift ever.  
  
Closing the door, Felicity had already made a mental list of what she had left to do. She needed to set the table, but first she'd go and change to make herself look more presentable. Moira, Thea, and Walter would show up looking impeccable, Felicity knew. Oliver obviously did, too. He had already changed from jeans and long sleeved t-shirt to suit pants and a dress shirt. Felicity was very sure this change of clothes was a behavior deeply rooted within him and planted there by Moira. In the Smoak household, a family dinner had never required formalwear. She was about to rush past the main room but, glancing in, she stopped and really registered the scene in front of her.  
  
Crossing her arms over her chest, she leaned against the doorframe. A small smile played around her lips. Oliver sat on the couch, his arms draped over the back, his legs stretched out, and his eyes glued to the television as he watched some football game. It was nice to see him like this, this.... She wanted to say 'normal,' but her internal editor told her that normal would never be a good word to describe Oliver. ‘Relaxed’ was a better choice, he looked really at ease.  
  
He must have noticed her staring, because he turned to look at her and ask, “What?”  
  
“Nothing, it's just nice to see you like that.”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
“Like you're having a day off.”  
  
“Well, you made it pretty clear that I had to be here tonight.”  
  
That was true. She had told him that he had to leave his hood in the closet and ignore his list for one night if he didn't want to end up on _her_ list. After all, she was doing this for him. His last meetings with his mother and his sister had been complete fiascos. “If you had—”  
  
“I know,” he interrupted. “I failed to make up with my mother.”  
  
Felicity sighed. They had had this discussion more than once already—she didn't feel like having it again. “I'll go change.” She motioned toward the dining table. “If you want to stop being a male cliché you can set the table.”  
  
“This is the first football game I'm watching in five years.”  
  
“Seriously? The island-card?!” Completely unimpressed, Felicity shook her head. “That won’t work this time. You watched quite a few games last month when John stayed with us.”  
  
“That reminds me: did you ask Digg to come like you wanted?”  
  
“I did, but he's with Carly and his nephew tonight.” Walking away, she told him, her voice slightly raised, “And I know you're trying to change the topic. You know where everything is. Don't forget the wineglasses.” With that she entered her bedroom and closed the door.  
  
When she emerged again, dressed and styled in a way that was fitting for a gathering of Queens, the table was done. Biting back a smile, Felicity was about to thank him (as the boss of twenty people she knew the power of positive reinforcement) when the telephone rang. That was the signal: showtime.  
  
___________________________________________________  
  
Felicity had feared tension and awkwardness.  
  
Her fears had been justified.  
  
The situation was beyond tense and beyond awkward—and she had no idea how to diffuse it. Oh, everybody was very polite, but that proved how exerted they were. A family should not be this strained when spending time together. She let her eyes wander around the group. Walter had taken the seat at the head of the table when he had been the only one daring enough to cut the turkey. Moira sat to his left with Thea next to her, Oliver had taken the seat opposite to his sister, placing Felicity between himself and his step-father. Like a buffer. And now they were all sitting here, eating, and not saying a word.  
  
It was horrible.  
  
Felicity watched Thea take a sip of her white wine. Moira had protested a little when Felicity had filled her glass, but Felicity really felt like there wasn't any use pretending that Thea didn’t partake on her own. And a glass of wine with dinner wasn't the same as downing shots until you forgot your own name.  
  
“This is very different from every Smoak Thanksgiving ever.” To her horror, Felicity realized that her lips were moving and forming words. She knew that she had to stop talking, because her loose tongue would only make things worse. But she couldn't stop, she had to end this heavy silence that was a clear sign that her plan of getting this family together was failing miserably. “Not only because Uncle Bernie would always wear his sweatpants and my cousin would throw his football through the room. One year he hit the television. Wasn't pretty.” She had to... stop. Talking! “And Aunt Beth would have emptied her first bottle of wine by now and started singing ' _My heart will go on'_. Another un-pretty thing. But I guess that's what having to listen to this song constantly for years does to a person. Beth was a dancer at the Celine Dion residency....” Felicity reached for her own wineglass to fill her mouth with alcohol and keep her lips from moving. She didn't dare to look anywhere but her plate.  
  
Walter chuckled. “Those do indeed sound like memorable gatherings.” He lifted his fork filled with turkey. “Felicity, it's all very delicious.”  
  
“Thank you,” Felicity smiled at Walter, before another thought marched through her mind. “Our cleaning lady cooked it.” She flinched. “I mean, I helped. Peeled the potatoes and—”  
  
“That's great,” Thea interrupted. “I just remembered something we used to do at Thanksgiving. Dad always made us name one thing we were thankful for—and it had to be something that couldn't be bought.”  
  
“What a nice tradition,” Walter said and smiled, but Felicity had a really, really, _really_ bad feeling about this.  
  
“Yes,” Thea curved her lips into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. “I'll go first. I'm thankful that Oliver came back to us...” Okay, maybe Felicity had been wrong. This wasn't so bad. “...so that he could ignore us and be judgmental all the time.” Or maybe Felicity had been absolutely right.  
  
“Thea!” Moira chided.  
  
“What?!” Thea asked, noisily letting her fork drop onto her plate. “Am I ruining a family gathering?! O! M! G! I wouldn't want to make this uncomfortable!”  
  
“This is not the right moment to have such a conversation,” Moira said calmly, even though it was obvious that it was a forced calm.  
  
“Why NOT?!” Thea demanded to know. “This is the first time we're all together since Ollie came back!”  
  
“What do you want me to say, Thea?” Oliver asked. He sat in his seat and looked at his sister challengingly. Unlike his mother he seemed genuinely calm. “You're right. I haven't spent much time with you,” he glanced at his mother, “and I said hurtful things. I know that and I should've apologized sooner.”  
  
Felicity looked at the man sitting next to her and wondered if he even realized that this wasn't a real apology; he hadn't really said he was sorry, but merely said that he should. She didn't know why she thought about that right now or why that realization, his half-assed apology, slightly angered her. She didn't know why, but she still felt like he owed his family an actual ‘I'm sorry.'  
  
“I don't want you to apologize,” Thea said, nearly yelling. “I want you to be my brother and stop acting so weird.”  
  
The muscles in Oliver's face tightened slightly, Felicity noticed that instantly, and she knew that his calm was slipping. She had been sure that it had been a facade to begin with, but now he was straining to keep it in place. “Who's judgmental now?”  
  
Hearing her brother's question, Thea gasped. “Excuse me?!”  
  
“You say nothing you do's good enough for me. But it seems like I also fail to live up to your expectations.”  
  
“Is it too much to ask for things to be like they were?!”  
  
“IT IS!” Oliver yelled and the other four people around the table flinched. Noticing their reaction, Oliver caught himself, bottled the aggravation and the hurt and the fury back up, closed the lid tightly. “I apologize,” he hurried to say.  
  
Felicity looked at the man she was married to, who was all smooth surface, but she knew that a storm was raging underneath. It was her fault. It was her fault that he was faced with all those accusations. She had insisted on this dinner, even though she had known, deep down, that it was a bad idea that could only go wrong. Without thinking she reached for his hand which was resting in his lap, his index finger brushing against his thumb. Squeezing tightly, she tried to send him support.  
  
Once again silence sank over the room, but it only lasted a few heartbeats. Moira was the one to end it with a strong, “No.” She looked at her son. “You're right. Things have changed.” Moira turned a little to her daughter, “Oliver, when you came back and I fetched you from the hospital, the doctor told me that I needed to prepare myself. That the Oliver we lost might not be the man they found.” Her eyes were soft and travelled from Thea to Oliver. “I ignored that warning, but that was careless. Of course, you are not the same person anymore. How could you be? We are all different people than we were five years ago.” She brought her eyes back to Thea. “We want things to be like they were, but they cannot be.” She curved her lips into a smile that showed no joy, only sadness. “I understand why Oliver wants to spend time with Felicity, but not with us. We are remembering the Oliver we lost, when she accepts the man he has become.”  
  
Oliver's grip on Felicity's hand had tightened with each sentence his mother spoke. His face looked as calm as it always did, but his hand closed in a nearly hurtful grip around Felicity's. She could see that he was searching for something to say.  
  
“I accept who he has become.” Thea objected. “If he tells me.” She placed her attention on her brother and addressed him directly. “Tell me something about you, Ollie. Anything.”  
  
Oliver opened his mouth and closed it again. He took a deep and slow breath before he exhaled methodically and noisily. Sitting up straighter in his chair, he untangled his hand from Felicity's and placed his forearms next to his plate. “On the island there was a plane wreck, I lived there, because it offered basic shelter. The ceiling was ripped open in parts and on clear nights I would sleep there, so I could see the stars and the moon.” He spoke measuredly, slowly while not looking at anybody directly. “The thought that the same stars shone down on you, that you could see this exact moon made me feel connected to you. I know it sounds stupid when I say it now, but it helped me when I felt alone at night. I thought about you every day. My only wish was to come back to you, to be home. But now that I am I know that I don't fit in with you anymore. That's why I'm keeping my distance.”  
  
Thea's eyes were swimming with tears as she took in her brother. Moira said softly, “Oliver, you are my son. That's the perfect fit.” She reached across the table for his hand. “I love you—I always have and I always will. But we just got you back. Please, don't shut us out from your life.”  
  
Finally, Oliver dared to look at his mother. “I'm sorry for the things I said. I was unfair and stupid and wrong.” Now Moira's eyes were watering, too, and Oliver glanced at Thea. “And I am sorry for being too judgmental. But I've been where you are and I worry about you.”  
  
Felicity watched as Moira got up from her seat and moved around the table. She motioned for Oliver to get up and he did, accepting his mother's outstretched arms as they hugged. Thea joined her mother and her brother, and all of this caused a happy tingle to rush through Felicity.  
  
This was such a huge, _huge_ thing for Oliver to do, she knew. She had seen how much he had to fight to tell them anything. He had chosen to share the most basic thing. Even though it was probably true, it still painted the whole island-experience in a much more positive light than it deserved. Watching the stars and thinking about your family was a nice thing. It also was a more appropriate thing to share during Thanksgiving dinner than the memory of his father shooting himself in the head.  
  
But he had opened a door, at least the tiniest bit, that had been tightly locked before. He had shared some of the things he was feeling and to Felicity that seemed like a breakthrough. The others had seen a little bit of the Oliver she had gotten to know since he had returned and that made her happy.  
  
“Okay, since we're being honest,” Thea said, in a small voice, “I hate the graves in the backyard. I want us to tear down your's and dad's.”  
  
“What?! NO!” The happy tingle rushed out of Felicity and was instantly replaced by the cold grip of shock. “You can't do that! Then Jonas will—” She stopped herself as she realized that she was talking and what she was saying. The other four people turned to look at her and she shook her head in a stupid effort to clear her thoughts. “I'm sorry,” she said then, talking quickly to end the silent staring. “Of course, you should tear them down. I mean, I never thought how Oliver must feel that there's a grave with his name on it. That can only be horrible. And Robert, of course, his grave's empty, too.”  
  
She saw understanding in the eight eyes that rested on her and she hated that it only took two sentences for her to fall apart like that. Her heart was beating heavily in her throat as she stared ahead. She couldn't look at them, couldn't meet their eyes. She needed to calm down first.  
  
Lowering her head slightly, she tried to hide her face behind a curtain of her blonde hair, which she had let down when styling for the occasion.  
  
“Felicity,” Thea spoke quietly. “I'm sorry. I didn't—”  
  
“It's okay,” Felicity said dismissively as Oliver sat back down, his body turned toward her. “Really, it's fine. I'm sorry. I'm overreacting.”  
  
He reached for her hand and only as it closed around hers did she realize that she had curled her hands into fists to keep them from shaking. She opened her grip instantly and Oliver cradled her left in both of his hands. His thumb brushed over her skin and she could practically feel him searching for words.  
  
“Robert's with him.” Moira's voice suddenly coming from her left startled Felicity. Her mother-in-law crouched down and looked up at the younger blonde. “I always found that thought comforting,” Moira admitted, “that they are together and that Robert's looking after his grandson. He was always good with babies.” She smiled fondly. “When Oliver and Thea were little he always took the nightshifts. Feeding, changing their diapers. He loved doing that. Me,” she playfully rolled her eyes, “not so much. Jonas and Robert, I think they are doing fine. They have each other.”  
  
Now Felicity's eyes were watering. She nodded in appreciation and agreement, and with that movement the first tear spilled. Quickly, she wiped it away. “I'm sorry.”  
  
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Moira said and placed her hands on Felicity's leg. “You lost your child, all the plans that came with him, all the dreams and hopes you had for him. You start loving your children as soon as you know of them—I know from experience that you cannot let this love go.”  
  
“No,” Felicity whispered, “it doesn't go away.”  
  
“He'll be with us forever.”  
  
The pronoun meant a lot to Felicity. The fact that Moira included herself, and probably the rest of the family, in this… The fact that her mother-in-law showed her that she wasn't alone was so comforting. In the past five years that had never happened. Oh, Felicity had known that Moira had been sad, but she had been sure that the older woman had moved on, that she was over it. It probably shouldn't be, but it was strangely nice to know that she wasn't. There was only one thing Felicity could say now. “Thank you.”  
  
“No,” Moira said, “thank you, Felicity. I know that this dinner wasn't Oliver's idea, even though he invited us. It has been enlightening. It was about time that we did this.”  
  
The others nodded and Oliver's left hand let go of Felicity's to bring it up to her face. Brushing hair out of her face, he tugged a blonde strand behind her ear. “We should leave dad's grave,” he suggested. He looked at Thea, who had returned to her seat. “Would that be okay?”  
  
“Yes,” she agreed. “Sure.” A moment of silence followed, before the youngest Queen cleared her throat. All eyes settled on her. Everybody could see that she was hesitating, but then she seemed to give herself an inward push and her mouth opened, “Okay, since we are on the heavy subjects.... Why did Walter move out of the bedroom and to the east wing of the mansion?”  
  
Moira shot up from her crouching position instantly.  
  
“Wow,” Felicity muttered, “we're really not avoiding any uncomfortable subjects tonight.”  
  
“Your mother and I,” Walter answered, as collected as always, “need some space at the moment. The last two months were... eventful and we are working some things out.”  
  
“I hope I didn't—” Oliver started, but Walter cut him off.  
  
“No, not at all. I understand your reservations regarding me.” He smiled, kindly. “You are a good man, Oliver, and the things that are going on between your mother and me are between your mother and me.”  
  
“But you're working things out, right?” Thea insisted while sounding a little pleading.  
  
“Yes, we are trying.” Moira said as went back to her seat. “Oh my,” she added, “I guess the food is cold now.” It was her attempt to change the subject, everybody knew.  
  
Felicity felt like they should all just accept it and reached for the wine bottle to create a diversion. It was empty. “I'll get a new one,” she said getting up. “I could really use another glass.”  
  
“Yes,” Moira said. “I, too.” Then she looked at her children. “On a lighter note. Guess who I met yesterday—Janice Bowen.” Receiving only blank stares, she clarified, “Carter's mother.”  
  
“Oh,” Oliver rolled his eyes, “Carter Bowen. The perfect son.”  
  
“Is he perfect?” Moira asked.  
  
Oliver looked at his mother. “According to you.” After a slight pause he added. “Carter Bowen just won the national chess championship. Carter Bowen's anchoring the debate team.”  
  
Moira frowned. “I'm sure I didn't make that big of a fuss.”  
  
“Oliver, Carter just got accepted into Harvard and Princeton,” Thea chimed in.  
  
“Well,” Oliver said looking at his sister, “that's because Carter got a perfect score on his SATs.”  
  
“Now,” Thea exaggerated awe, “how did he manage to study _and_ cure cancer?”  
  
“All right, all right, all right,” Moira made a dismissive gesture, and Felicity felt like she was seeing things. What was happening? How could such a tense beginning continue with such a playful conversation?  
  
It was a Thanksgiving miracle.  
  
And the miracle continued for three more hours. After a very rocky start, the evening turned into everything Felicity had hoped for and more. She had dreamed that this family would finally come together, share a little, spend some quality time together—and they had. Oliver and she stood next to each other in the doorframe and waved as a tipsy Moira, a sober Thea, and the designated driver Walter got into the elevator.  
  
“That was surprisingly nice,” Felicity said as she headed back into the apartment. She heard Oliver close the door and turned around to face him.  
  
“Yes,” he agreed, “that was a great evening with my family. I needed this. You were right.”  
  
She smirked. “You should accept that I mostly am. It'll save you a lot of trouble.”  
  
He didn't return her smile, but stayed serious. He nodded agreement and then he took another step to her and pulled her into a hug. It was sudden and unexpected and it surprised Felicity so much that she needed a moment to register what was going on, but when she did, she didn't hesitate to hug him back. Getting on her tiptoes, she brought her hands around his middle. His arms were around her, pressing her to his body. His scent surrounded her, she felt his warmth and his breath on her skin; his closeness was comforting. A small smile lit up her face when she heard his whisper against her neck. “You're remarkable, Felicity. Thank you for everything.”  
  
“You're welcome, Oliver. Anything, anytime.”


	15. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You wonderful, wonderful people. As always your utter awesomeness is beyond description. I thank you all whole-heartedly for the overwhelming response to the last chapter. I am just overjoyed that you enjoyed it (even though so many shed tears. I'm sorry.) And I’m glad that so many of you are on board with me taking my time. A little longer. Thank you so much.
> 
> I don't know what time zone you live in, but over here it's Friday night and I'm about to go out. I apologize for any mistakes I made in this note and blame it onto the red wine I already had. I thought about not posting, but I didn't want to keep you waiting any longer. But fear not: as always this chapter was **Albiona** -approved. Thank God! ;-)
> 
> All my love. Have a great weekend!

**December 5 th 2012**  
  
Oliver respected John Diggle. He had taken a bullet for Felicity; Oliver knew that he owned the man one. And Oliver had even come to like him; Diggle was a nice guy.  
  
He was a nice guy Oliver liked even better when he was with Felicity. But he didn't like suddenly being faced with the man and his unnerving half-smile as Oliver left the elevator in the apartment building’s garage.  
  
“Mr. Queen,” Diggle greeted him and gestured to the Bentley. “Your wife told me you had an appointment at your club at ten a.m.”  
  
That was the truth. It was the third visit by the building code inspector to the former QC steel factory that Oliver Queen and Tommy Merlyn wanted to turn into a club. People were already talking about that, already excited about the prospect and he and Tommy didn't even have permission to start the very necessary remodeling yet. But Oliver had come to see the advantage the club offered him: it would conceal his base of operations and give him an excuse for why he spent so much time there. Plus, it was nice to see his best friend so excited. Tommy was filling out forms, bargaining with alcohol suppliers, discussing ideas with interior designers—he basically had the whole thing organized already. All that was left was the bureaucratic green light. Oliver really hoped to get it today—if only to make his friend happy.  
  
So, there was nothing wrong with John Diggle's statement. The only thing wrong was that John Diggle was here to state it to begin with. Oliver frowned. “And why are you not with my wife?”  
  
“Apparently, she felt pity for your bodyguard. She took Rob along today and I'm with you.”  
  
Hearing that, the frown on Oliver's face only intensified. “Really?”  
  
“Really,” Diggle clarified and opened the door of the Bentley.  
  
Oliver didn't move. This whole thing seemed fishy to him. The idea that a woman who had bet on the date when his bodyguard would give up – yeah, he knew about that and he was as surprised as everybody else how long the dude was putting up with Oliver's antics – would grant that exact bodyguard a casual Wednesday sounded wrong.  
  
Even though, Oliver had to admit that he had back-to-back appointments today. All official. There was the meeting with Tommy at the club, lunch with his mother, and then he’d promised to pick up Thea from school and take her to Cavalier's to buy a present for their mother's upcoming birthday. Their joint shopping had been a ritual they had followed every year before he had been lost at sea. Oliver could already hear his sister complain that their mother's birthday was too close to Christmas—that rant had been an annual occurrence, too.  
  
So, basically, Felicity had chosen a good day to dump Diggle on him, because he could let the bodyguard tag along. He just didn't understand _why_ she’d done it.  
  
His unwanted bodyguard gestured again for Oliver to get in the Bentley.  
  
The way Oliver pressed his lips together was a clear sign that he didn't like it at all, but had no way out. If he ditched Diggle, he’d get an earful from Felicity. But, he realized, if he gave in and let the man do his job, Oliver could give Felicity an earful for springing that on him.... Deciding that he would most enjoy the latter, he walked toward the car.  
  
John Diggle smiled when the man was seated. “For your information, sir. I activated the child-proof lock. No jumping out of cars today.” With that he closed the door.  
  
___________________________________  
  
Kristina preferred the term “partner in crime.” Felicity totally disagreed, because there wasn't any real criminal intent involved. She liked to think of her best friend as an “accomplice.” Ultimately, after a rather lengthy and not entirely sophisticated debate via text message, the two best friends had decided on a compromise. The whole episode had also proven to Felicity that her best friend had spent too much time working the nightshift at Starling City General.  
  
Smiling at her accomplice in non-penal crime (okay, that really was too awkward to ever catch on), Felicity entered the restaurant. The eyes of the two best friends met briefly before a voice from her left caught Felicity's attention. “Mrs. Queen,” a gorgeous girl dressed in a little black dress greeted her, “please follow me, your table is this way.”  
  
Felicity was very aware of the fact that other people were already waiting in line for a table to clear and she had just arrived. She knew that Kristina, who was walking toward Felicity, had been sent to wait by the bar. She knew that it was unfair favoritism caused by the money and fame her family name suggested. And she knew that she should feel bad about this.  
  
She should, but she didn't. This was one of the times when being a Queen worked in her favor and since she hated waiting with a passion, she just accepted the favoritism. People believed her to be a bitch anyway, so why bother?  
  
“Hey,” Felicity greeted Kristina before the two women hugged. Letting go of her friend, Felicity nodded at the matron, indicating for her to lead the way. Together they walked to a quiet table in the back. Felicity really appreciated that, because she hated sitting by the windows where paparazzi could take unflattering shots of her fighting with her fork and the spaghetti. She sank down on a seat and smiled at the hostess. “My bodyguard,” she motioned through the room at Rob, “please, find a seat for him by the bar.” She didn't need to say more. The hostess nodded and the waiter took over, handing out the menus.  
  
Normally, Felicity preferred take-out to going out for dinner. She preferred eating and chatting in her apartment or at her best friend's place, because then she could really relax and speak freely. Felicity loved food served with a good conversation, but in a restaurant she always felt like everybody was listening in. She felt watched and judged. But tonight the public dinner was a necessity, it was part of the plan the women had hatched.  
  
To make it up to her friend who had agreed to go out with the official Felicity Queen, the unofficial Felicity Queen had decided that they'd eat at Bertinelli's. It was the number one Italian hot spot in town—people would sell their grandmother to get a table and Felicity knew that her friend enjoyed cutting the line and telling her colleagues about it more than enough to endure an evening with Felicity's guarded self.  
  
The waiter was obviously disappointed when he couldn't interest them in overly expensive wine and grudgingly returned with their waters. It wasn't that either of them was opposed to drinking on a weekday, but both needed a clear head tonight. When their meals were ordered, Kristina looked at her best friend, “Are you sure you want to do this?”  
  
Felicity reached for her glass. “Yes, I have to do this, because—”  
  
“I know, I know.” Kristina sighed. “Mysteries bug you, they need to be solved. I still think you're seeing mysteries that aren't really there.”  
  
“I will know after tonight. And if I was just imagining things, I’ll call you and you can tell me so.”  
  
“Oh, I will tell you so.” Kristina brushed her brown locks out of her face. “But I must admit that I'm kind of excited about this. I feel like a super spy. Plus, Rob's cute. I can keep him distracted for a while.”  
  
Felicity bit back a smile. “I'm sure you can, Jane Bond.”  
  
Ignoring this quip, Kristina leaned forward and lowered her voice, “Did you see who's waiting in line when we cut?” Not waiting for an answer, she added, “Greg the Surgeon with a— Don't look!” she hissed as she saw that Felicity made a move to turn around. “You never manage to subtly take a peek!”  
  
“I can be very subtle!”  
  
“No,” Kristina objected, “you can't.” Seeing the challenge in the blonde's face, the brunette took it. “Remember when you wanted to buy that computer-thingy as a birthday present for Ray and he happened to come into the store?”  
  
“Those boxes were badly stacked!”  
  
“They were fine until you tried to hide behind them!”  
  
“ _Once_ I destroy equipment for several thousand dollars and you always have to rub it in.”  
  
Kristina smirked. “Yeah, because you doing that is priceless.” She kept the smirk in place for another moment while Felicity glared at her. Suddenly Kristina's eyes lit up. “Oh, talking about changing the subject: I met a guy today. In the supermarket.”  
  
“You met a guy in the supermarket? How? That's like the worst place to meet somebody... with the unflattering lighting and the... everything.”  
  
“No! It the best place to meet somebody!” The look Felicity gave her friend made it clear she highly doubted that, but was willing to listen to an explanation. “It's the best place to spot single men. If a guy's trying to balance microwave food, beer, nachos, and salsa in his arms, he's most definitely single.”  
  
Felicity contemplated that information before slowly nodding. “Okay, that's true. I was kind of worried you'd reference the section with vegetables and the suggestive power of a cucumber or something....” Indignation showed on Kristina's face and she opened her mouth to object, but she closed it again and frowned. “Oh God,” Felicity groaned, “don't say I just gave you an idea.”  
  
“I'm debating whether I could pull that off.... Probably not. Anyways, I have a date with Demarion on Saturday.”  
  
“Demarion?”  
  
“The salsa guy. He felt bad that he let the sauce drop and ruined my new sneakers.”  
  
“And that's why you should always take a basket in the supermarket.”  
  
“Yeah, that'll be the lesson we'll teach our grandchildren when we tell them the romantic story of how their grandparents met.” Kristina hurried to lift her hands in a calming gesture. “Just kidding! Geez!” She reached for her water. “Talking about romantic meetings: how's hubby?”  
  
“He's good.”  
  
Kristina raised a challenging eyebrow. “Really? That's all you're giving me?” Felicity sent her friend a very pointed look, silently telling her to let it go, but she should have known that Kristina wouldn't do that. “God, I hate going out with your paparazzi-you. You're no fun when we're in public. Once, just once, I want to have a casual dinner and an actual conversation with you outside of our homes.”  
  
Felicity sighed and managed to glare at her friend at the same time. She knew that Kristina had a point, but she had very good reasons for acting this way. It was a habit she had developed after one horrible year at MIT where everybody – and she was only exaggerating a little bit here – had been talking to the press about everything. Moira had managed to buy the silence of her roommate Vicky, who had also been her maid of honor at the wedding, just in time to keep her from blabbing a tell-all in an exclusive. Being guarded in public was a habit created by experience that was really hard to shake.  
  
“Nobody's listening, hon.”  
  
It wasn't true, Felicity knew. The people at the table next to them hadn't said a word since she and Kristina had sat down. Felicity had come to notice such things and she couldn't ignore them. Deliberately choosing her words, she said, “He spent the afternoon with Thea.”  
  
“That's good. Right?”  
  
Normally, Felicity would now tell Kristina that that wasn't just good, but _awesome_ , because for the first time in five years she had been spared the ultimate dread of buying Moira Queen a birthday present. Oliver had taken over that task— _unasked_. It was a perfect miracle.  
  
Instead, she just said, “Right.”  
  
The look Kristina sent her held the potential power to melt steel. Crumbling a little under her friend’s gaze, Felicity dug her brain for something to share with her that was appropriate for all audiences. She couldn't think of anything, because the main thing she wanted to share, the thing that she’d been trying to ignore for two weeks was extremely inappropriate for this venue. She couldn’t let it become public knowledge, but maybe she could code it.... Speaking very quietly she said, “Remember how you first told me about Greg? When I laughed at you, because it sounded too teeny?”  
  
A frown darkened Kristina's face, but quickly remembrance took over. “You're doing that with hubby?”  
  
“Yes.” She sank back in her seat. “Feel free to laugh at me.”  
  
“No,” Kristina said and, really, she seemed absolutely serious. “I'm too shocked to laugh.”  
  
“Shocked?”  
  
“That you admitted it. I mean, I've suspected it for weeks. Thanksgiving really was my last clue.” Kristina smirked. “I can't say that I blame you—”  
  
“I swear,” Felicity cut her off, “if you mention abs now I'll kick you under the table.”  
  
“Oh, they're just a bonus.” The smirk on Kristina's face turned into a warm smile. “Hon, that's not really a bad thing.”  
  
“I feel like it is. I feel like it complicates things. And things are already complicated.”  
  
“Why? Really. I don't understand.”  
  
Of course she didn't. She didn't know about Oliver's nightly activities. She didn't know how Felicity had helped with those nightly activities. Kristina had no idea how many very complicated things her best friend kept from her. And how guilty she felt about it.  
  
Thank God the waiter chose that moment to bring their food. The women smiled their thank yous and Felicity quickly reached for the fork to start eating her salad.  
  
“We'll talk about that when we won't have to use code,” Kristina said, her voice determined. Felicity met her eyes and nodded acceptance. “Good,” Kristina forked the first tortellini, “because this is huge and it needs to be discussed.”  
  
What was there left to discuss? The whole thing was as stupid as it sounded: Felicity had a serious crush on her husband.  
  
_____________________________________  
  
The child-proof locks clicked. This sound signaled that Oliver was free to go, but he made no move to open the door of the car. Instead, he glanced into the rear-view mirror and met John Diggle's eyes. For a few seconds the men held each other's gaze. They had been sizing each other up all day, in the last ten hours they had spent together. Oliver knew that John Diggle was a very capable man, a true soldier, focused and observing. He was nothing like Rob, which was a very good thing. Having him around had been a challenge, because Oliver knew that Diggle saw things that Rob missed. Diggle had called him out after he had thrown the letter opener at Firestorm. Diggle had also been the one to climb two flights of stairs with a dose of curare in his system that would have knocked out any regular guy. It would be foolish to underestimate this man.  
  
“I hope I behaved to your satisfaction today,” Oliver said calmly.  
  
“Yes, but I had very low expectations.”  
  
His face unmoving, Oliver nodded and finally reached for the door handle to get out of the car. Slamming the door shut, he stood in the underground garage of the building he lived in. To his surprise Diggle got out of the car as well and locked it. “Digg, I think I might be able to get into the elevator and up to my apartment. Why don't you call it a night and go see Carly?”  
  
“I will—right after I checked in with Felicity.”  
  
“Really?” Oliver challenged. “What did I do now that you have to tell her?”  
  
Taking a step toward the other man, Diggle said, “I just want to make sure she's okay.”  
  
A frown darkened Oliver's face as he tried to decipher that sentence. “Why wouldn't she be okay?”  
  
“I told you, I'm not the kind of man you want to take for a fool. I spent the last two months guarding your wife and today she calls me and says that she wants to switch bodyguards.”  
  
John Diggle left the sentence hanging and Oliver felt vindicated in his previous assessment of the ex-soldier. He had the exact same suspicions as Oliver. But he had the distinct feeling that Diggle had drawn conclusions that didn't work in Oliver’s favor. “And you think I have something to do with that?”  
  
“I think your wife has something to hide—and the last time she hid something, there were mean bruises on her neck.”  
  
An icy shiver raced through Oliver as the second part of the sentence hit him completely unprepared. It was an accusation that came with a clear threat that bounced off Oliver's shell, but what got under his skin was the truth that was attached to it. The guilt he felt over hurting Felicity hadn't faded. It was as strong as the morning when Oliver had seen the marks his fingers had left on her.  
  
Oliver felt ambivalent about being confronted about that by John Diggle. While he really didn't appreciate the man prying into his business, he appreciated the fact that Diggle obviously looked out for Felicity. He was protecting her in every sense and Oliver couldn't find fault in that.  
  
Only the slightest stiffening of Oliver's posture gave away his sudden inner tension as he said, “Wow, you don't think very much of me, do you?”  
  
“No, sir,” Diggle said with the ghost of a smile on his face while his eyes were challenging. “I have a very high regard for how perceptive you are. Sir.”  
  
“Please,” Oliver gestured toward the elevator, “come on up and see for yourself that I didn't beat my wife.”  
  
The two men glared at each other for another slightly too long instant, before Diggle broke eye contact. Not another word was spoken until the men reached the fourteenth floor. Oliver unlocked the door and as he pushed it open he was greeted by the lifelessness of an empty apartment. He stepped into the hall and switched the light on, chasing the darkness away.  
  
“She's not home.” Diggle observed.  
  
That was a dispensable comment in Oliver's opinion. He really didn’t need to be told that, because it was obvious and it was an observation that Oliver didn't like at all. Normally, Felicity told him when she had plans for the evening, when she worked late or met Kristina. He knew that she wasn't obliged to do so, she didn't have to tell him anything, but the thought of her _not_ telling him felt wrong. Lately, he had made it a point to always tell her everything and he had believed her to do the same. The idea that maybe she didn't was as unexpected as it was hurtful. But Oliver fought against that and pushed it down quickly. He trusted Felicity and it really wasn't like her to go MIA. Maybe, something had happened. With Diggle following him, he walked toward the main room and pulled his cellphone out.  
  
“I take it you don't know where she is,” Diggle commented.  
  
The glare Oliver sent him was answer enough.  
  
The ex-soldier was about to say something when his own cell rang. He quickly answered, “Yes?” In the next moment his eyes snapped to Oliver, who didn't like what he saw in the other man's eyes. Worry was taking over and intensified as Diggle asked, “She... _what_?”  
  
Oliver couldn't make out what was said on the other end of the conversation, but he knew it wasn't good. He glanced down at the display of his own phone and found that no missed messages or calls were waiting for him. He was just bringing his cell to his ear as John Diggle said, his voice threatening, “How could that happen? I—” He was obviously cut off and went back to listening while his eyes turned darker with anger.  
  
Oliver didn't like that—and he didn't like being directed to Felicity's mailbox. She never, ever had her phone off. His lips pressed tightly together. He ended the call just as John Diggle hung up, too. Oliver stared at the other man, who understood the unspoken question and answered instantly, “Felicity pulled a you! She ditched Rob. Apparently, Kristina distracted him, claiming that Felicity had to visit the ladies' room. It took him twenty minutes until he noticed that that she was taking too long to powder her nose. He quit.... That's one way to avoid getting fired!”  
  
Diggle was furious.  
  
So was Oliver. He selected another number in his cell. This time it rang. “Hubby!” Kristina's happy voice hit his ears.  
  
“What did you do?” he practically growled.  
  
“Wow, what's with the caveman voice?”  
  
“Where's Felicity?”  
  
“She needed to check something without being tailed.” Kristina sounded amused. “That's such a badass sentence, don't you think?”  
  
“What did she need to check out?”  
  
“Hubby—”  
  
He honestly wasn't in the mood. “Where is she!”  
  
“Dude, calm down! What's your problem?”  
  
“My problem is that last month people shot at her _twice_ and now she's ditching her bodyguard. And don't tell me it was a spontaneous thing, because she left Diggle with me!” It made sense now, because Felicity wouldn't do that to her friend John—also, she probably wouldn't have been able to do this to him. Diggle wouldn't be so dense to let himself be distracted by Kristina. “Tell me where she is.”  
  
“I think you're blowing this whole thing out of proportion. Felicity said that the shooting had something to do with the auction and that the danger was over.” Kristina sighed. “And before you snap at me again: I don't know where she is. She said she had to check out a warehouse, that's all I know.”  
  
This sentence startled Oliver into pausing his anger. “What warehouse?”  
  
“It has something to do with money being stolen from QC. She was really vague about it.” A certain softness entered Kristina's voice. “Hubby, I think it's sweet that you're worried, but you really don't need to be. Felicity's a big girl and she'll be right back with you. I'm not covering up some secret booty call.”  
  
Oh, great. That possibility had never even occurred to him.  
  
______________________________________  
  
Apparently, hacking was like riding a bike: once you learned how to do it, it came back naturally.  
  
It had been years since Felicity had hacked into a local surveillance system. Back then she had been in college and had given hacktivism a try. Acting as a hacktivist had been exciting for a while—until she had seen past the thrill of it all and the amazing sex with Cooper and realized that he was reckless and careless and ultimately not good for her. That realization had come just in time. Only one month later Cooper had been caught hacking an NSA server and had been arrested. It’d been a warning call to keep to legal coding. And once Felicity had become a Queen and then a CEO, there really had been no need for hacking.  
  
Until tonight—and she had to admit it was still kind of exciting. It also was a necessity. There were so many security cameras in the area and she didn't want to be observed or filmed when she checked out the warehouse rented by Tempest, the shell company that Moira Queen had invested in three years ago.  
  
Walter hadn't wanted to hear about Tempest and the warehouse. He’d ordered her to let this go and stop her researches—and she had... tried. The knowledge of it was always in the back of her head. It was a mystery and it bugged her. Felicity liked to know things, to understand things, to make sense of things. Until now there was no sense, only too many suspicious things happening around her. Like that fact that since she had gathered the data for Walter from a secure Firestorm computer, her company was facing a vicious hacker’s onslaught. Or the fact that Walter and Moira had a disagreement so big that it caused them to sleep in different wings. Maybe, Felicity was connecting things that had nothing to do with each other, but she had a feeling about this and she knew that she couldn't let go of it. She had to check.  
  
Her heels clicked on the pavement as she walked from her car to the warehouse. She wasn't exactly dressed for a top-secret mission, she had to admit that. But maybe it was better this way. In her red coat and black stilettos, she at least didn't look like a burglar.  
  
Realizing that she was thinking stupid thoughts, she forced herself to focus and walked up the stairs leading to the steel door of the warehouse. A security panel was installed next to the entrance. Felicity had expected something like that and had come prepared. With ease she attached the code-breaker to the panel and watched the display. She had expected numbers to show up there—maybe Moira's birthday or that of one of her children. This was Moira Queen's warehouse after all, and she had never listened to Felicity about security and passwords that were too obvious. The woman used her wedding date (the second one) for the alarm system of the mansion. If she was ever robbed it would be her own fault.  
  
To Felicity's surprise the first thing that appeared wasn't a number but a letter. She frowned and as the second and third appeared, her heart beating faster. This was unexpected—and all things considered it probably was the safest un-safe personal password Moira could've chosen. The door lock clicked. Felicity gave herself another second to take in the name on the display in before she unhooked the device and pulled open the door.  
  
A motion sensor was activated as she stepped over the threshold. Bright lights flickered to life and revealed how huge the warehouse was. The sound of her heels connecting with the metal echoed though the massive room, but Felicity didn't register it. As if in trance she took two more steps, her hands closing around the cold handrail as she stared down. Standing on a galley, she had the perfect view of what lay below her. And she couldn't believe it.  
  
Felicity didn't really know what she had expected, but she knew that she hadn't expected _that_.  
  
Her heart was beating even faster now. She felt cold suddenly and all she could think was, “ _Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!_ ” It wasn't the smartest thing to mentally chant, but it fit. Because there were no words for what she was seeing. None but, “Oh my God!”  
  
_________________________________  
  
Oliver Queen wasn't a very patient man. Had never been, would never be. He hated waiting in general, but especially when he felt like he should be doing something. Sadly, the only thing he could do right now was pace the main room and try Felicity's cell every other minute. All he could do was wait for something to happen. In Oliver's mind, that something ranged from the best (Felicity turning her phone back on) to the absolute worst (the police calling to tell him that they had bad news).  
  
Kristina was probably right: he was blowing this way out of proportion. But he couldn't help it; he had a bad feeling. The fact that John Diggle was sitting on the couch, glancing at his watch as often as Oliver tried to call Felicity, proved that Oliver wasn't the only one who was worried. John Diggle sitting on the couch was also the only reason why Oliver wasn't already suiting up in his lair—that and the fact that going to his lair wouldn't do him any good. He had no way to track Felicity down, had no way of finding out where she was, if she was in trouble or simply enjoying her evening alone.  
  
The latter sounded wrong to him. Felicity wouldn't go missing just _because_. He was sure of it. The thought that something had happened to her, that somebody had used the first time in weeks that she was alone and without security to get to her, to harm her, turned his insides. Because Oliver knew: if something had happened to her, he was to blame. The guy in the red skull mask had threatened her because he had wanted to find out what she knew about Oliver's time on the island.  
  
Felicity had gone 25 years without being shot at, but since Oliver had returned to Starling City it had happened twice. She’d also never been threatened by masked men before Oliver.  
  
That equaled too much danger he had put her in—and that thought was the reason why he blew the whole thing out of proportion. If something happened to her, he wouldn't be able to forgive himself.  
  
And if nothing had happened to her he would rip her head off for being so unbelievably stupid.  
  
His aggravation showed in the way he brought his thumb down to the display of his phone, in the way he hit the picture of Felicity – the one had taken it after his welcome-home party when they had sat in Carly's Big Belly Burger – to call her. Once again, Felicity's mailbox message hit his ears. His hand closed around his phone. Gripping it tightly, he pushed down the urge to throw it against the wall.  
  
There were so many frustrations inside him, because he felt helpless and useless; because he was not as calm and collected as he wanted to be, as he felt like he needed to be in front of John Diggle; because a person was missing who he cared about, and he only now realized how much he cared about Felicity.  
  
He knew that he needed to get it together. He wasn't helping anybody or this situation with the way he was acting. He was forcing himself to calm down when he heard the key turn in the lock. Instantly, he shot around and marched toward the hall.  
  
“Oliver?”  
  
Felicity's questioning voice hit his ears and his frustrations boiled over. His steps quick and forceful, he entered the hall. “WHAT do you thin—” The angry allegation clogged in his throat the moment he saw her, her eyes, and the way she held her shoulders: she might not be physically hurt (at least he saw no indication of that), but something had seriously unsettled her. That confirmed at least part of his worried assumptions. “What happened?” he asked, his voice softening along with his eyes. He walked to her and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”  
  
“I—” she started, but then stopped as her eyes settled on a spot behind Oliver who knew who she was looking at even before she said, “John,” in audible surprise.  
  
“We were worried about you,” Diggle explained, “you pulled an Oliver.”  
  
“I...” she frowned, “did. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you.” Her eyes moved to Oliver. “I'm sorry.” There was something in her eyes he couldn't quite place, a silent question he didn't know the answer to.  
  
But Oliver had noticed the way Felicity's posture had changed when she had seen Diggle appear behind him, when she had noticed that they weren't alone—and that gave him a good idea what to do next. He let his hand drop from her shoulder and turned to face Diggle. “As you can see,” he motioned to Felicity, “no bruises.”  
  
“What?” Felicity's eyes jumped between the two men.  
  
John Diggle ignored Oliver's spoken jab and Felicity's question and let his eyes travel over Felicity. “Are you really all right?”  
  
“Yes,” Felicity said and Oliver could see that she was fighting to pull herself together, “everything's good. I'm just tired. I'm sorry, I needed the evening to myself.”  
  
It was obvious that Diggle wanted to know more, that he didn't like being dismissed. Oliver took a step toward the door, sending the ex-soldier a fake smile. “Thank you for waiting with me. I hope Carly won't be angry that you're so late.”  
  
Diggle's face was unmoving as he met Oliver's eyes, before looking at Felicity again. “Fine,” he said, “I understand.” He walked toward the door Oliver opened for him.  
  
“Good night, John,” Felicity said as he passed her. A nod was his only answer and then he was out of the door. Closing it, Oliver turned to Felicity. She looked uncomfortable, “That was impolite. We shouldn't hav—”  
  
Oliver couldn't care less. “What the fuck, Felicity! What the hell's going on? Where were you!”  
  
Immediately, the clear traces of anxiety were back. She was avoiding his eyes. “We need to sit down for that,” she said and headed into the main room.  
  
He followed her and watched her as she took off her red coat and hung it over a chair standing by the dining table. Never would this woman use the coat rack. She turned to face him. “I'm sorry, Oliver, I never expected that. If I had I would've told you sooner. But, you see, I only had a suspicion before—and, man, was I wrong. I was way, waaaay off. But as I said, I never expected that.”  
  
“Felicity.” Quite a few steps were separating them. She stood next to the table, her body obviously wound into knots, her hands moving up to take her glasses off. “Just tell me what’s going on. Where were you?”  
  
“We should really sit down,” she repeated and walked to the couch. When she was sitting, she looked up at him.  
  
With a sigh, he sat down next to her. He really would much rather be standing, but if she needed that to finally get to the point.... He looked at her and his eyes told her to get talking.  
  
Nervously, she cleared her throat. “I know that you don't like Walter, which is unfair because he's a good man. I know that what I'll tell you next won't help to lift your opinion of him, but—” He pinned her down with a stare and she ended her ramble by taking a calming breath. She put her glasses back on her nose before she turned to him and said, a little less frantic, “Walter noticed irregularities in the QC's accounts. Big irregularities. 2.6 million was missing. He asked Moira about it, because it happened under her watch and... her explanation didn't exactly help make sense of things and Walter asked me to look into it.”  
  
Oliver felt his whole body tense more and more with each word she spoke, but he simply sat there, ramrod straight on the couch, and let her talk. He needed to hear this, he knew. No matter how much he hated where this was going, he needed to know.  
  
“I did,” Felicity continued. “I did that the night when I drowned my laptop in Diet Coke.... I was following the money trail and somebody followed me home—virtually. Somebody with serious skills. That really freaked me out. You know, you saw the freak-out.... Anyway, since Walter asked me to check it for him, I gave it a second go—from Firestorm. And I found evidence that the company your mother invested 2.6 million in doesn't exist. In fact, there was no investment.”  
  
Oliver's voice was practically a growl as he asked, “What does that mean?”  
  
“The money was used to set up an offshore LLC called Tempest,” she explained and continued, giving him the information Walter hadn't listened to until the end. “But Tempest doesn't really exist. There's nothing registered with the Secretary of State, no federal tax records, no patent applications filed. But in 2009, Tempest purchased a warehouse in Starling City. I tried to tell Walter, but he didn't want to hear it. He told me that Moira had explained things to him and that I was supposed to forget about it all, let it go.”  
  
“But you didn't,” Oliver stated—because it wasn't a guess.  
  
“I tried to, but....” She sat on the edge of her seat, literally. She was close to jumping off the couch. Tension was radiating off Felicity, Oliver could practically feel it. It was also reflected in her voice and in how quickly she spoke. “Since I gathered that information, somebody's attacking Firestorm's servers. That might be a coincidence, but after what happened that first night I doubt it. And then Thea said that Walter's moved out the bedroom, so he can't be all that happy with your mother. And I know that it all might be nothing, but this whole Tempest thing bugged me and I needed to know what was going on—”  
  
“What did you do?”  
  
“I went to the warehouse tonight.” Her eyes rested on him and they were so fearful that he felt his own chest tighten in apprehension. She swallowed. “I... I'm so sorry, Oliver, I never expected to find what I did.”  
  
“What did you find?” She hesitated, he could practically see her searching for words, for a way to put it, which caused him to rest his hand on hers as he urged, “Just say it, Felicity.”  
  
“The _Queen's Gambit_. Or what’s left of it.”  
  
He pulled his hand back as if her skin was suddenly burningly hot. He jumped up. He towered over her and glared down at her. His voice quiet but harsh, he said, “I don't believe you.”  
  
She reached for her phone. Entering her pin code, she brought the cell back to life. After a few more wipes and pushes on the display, she held it out to him. “Press play.”  
  
He did and couldn't believe was his eyes were seeing. There is was, the wreck, just like Felicity had told him, stranded in a warehouse. He saw the name sprawled out over the back, he saw the gaping hole where his cabin had been, the one Sara had been sucked through into the ocean.  
  
His blood was rushing in his ears, his heart was beating up to his chest, and he noticed that the hand holding the phone was shaking. He swallowed heavily, trying to come up with something to say, but his mind was empty. All he could do, as the video came to an end, was to replay it. He did that three more times while Felicity sat on the coach, watching him watch a video that made his insides crawl and his stomach turn. Finally, he looked up and dared to meet her gaze which was soft and filled with pity.  
  
“I'm so sorry, Oliver.”  
  
“I need to see it.” He held her phone out to her. “Take me to the warehouse.” She looked reluctant, but he didn't even let her start objecting, “Take me there, NOW.”  
  
_____________________________________  
  
Psychiatrists would have field day with this—with the fact that Oliver had felt the need to put on his hood before he drove her to the warehouse on his motorbike. She didn't have the heart to tell him that she hated the deathtrap on two wheels and would much rather take her Mini.  
  
The thought of Oliver in full vigilante gear inside her tiny car had looked so ridiculous in her head that she’d nearly giggled.  
  
But giggling wouldn't have fit the mood or the situation. This was no laughing matter. Oliver had stopped talking to her, but she could see that his mind was working overtime. He was processing the information and all the implications that came with it.  
  
Felicity had noticed that Oliver had turned calmer once he had put his hood on and smeared his face with green paint. She really wasn't an expert and she had never been a fan of folk psychology, but it was hard to miss that he was using his get-up as a shield. He needed this to feel in charge. He was hiding behind it. Felicity knew that she shouldn't judge him, not when she had her own way of hiding her true self from others, but despite that she couldn't help but notice.  
  
She made him stop a safe distance from the warehouse so she could throw the surveillance cameras into another loop. Oliver watched her with interest as she pressed different buttons on her tablet, but when she gave him the go, he took charge. He was leading the way, hurrying up the stairs to the warehouse. He was already aiming an arrow at the security panel when Felicity took the last steps and stopped him from actually releasing it. “The password is ‘Jonas.’”  
  
He hesitated for a second, but then he lowered his bow and brought his gloved hand to the buttons. The click Felicity had already heard tonight sounded through the quiet and Oliver ripped the door open. With purposeful steps he entered the warehouse, but stopped almost instantly. His eyes were glued to the wreck below.  
  
Not wanting to wait outside and maybe get caught, Felicity followed him, closed the door, and moved to stand next to him on the galley. She watched him as he stared at the yacht and hated that his hood concealed so much of his face. She could only imagine what he must be thinking right now, what he must be feeling. She didn't want to push this, push him. She just stood by his side and let him process it. It took him quite a few minutes, actually, until life came back to him in the form of his jaw grinding. Then he swallowed and said, “Did you notice the hole?”  
  
That might sound like an incredibly stupid question, because – _duh_ – the gaping hole tearing the Gambit apart was really hard to miss. But Felicity knew that that wasn't what he meant, she knew what he was referring to, because yes, she had noticed it too, and it had been the worst thing about finding the wreckage. “I did. I doesn't look like it happened when the boat sank or hit bottom.”  
  
“No. It looks like it was torn open by an explosion.”  
  
“It does.”  
  
“You said the warehouse was rented in 2009?” Felicity nodded in confirmation and Oliver's voice sounded heavier than usual when he said, “Two years on the bottom of the North China Sea....”  
  
Felicity was sure she knew what he was hinting at. “I don't think there's any forensic evidence of a detonation left.”  
  
“We have to try.” Now he turned to face her. “My mother stored that wreck here. I mean.... The password, it screams her.”  
  
“Or me,” Felicity said, before she realized what she was saying. She flinched. “Or not me. Honestly, I didn't know. I promise I told you as soon—”  
  
“I know.” His voice didn't show the slightest doubt. “Felicity, I know.”  
  
She took a step toward him and brought her hand to his leather-clad shoulder. “I want to help you with this, with getting to the bottom of this and finding out the truth.”  
  
To her sincere surprise Oliver shook his head. “No.”  
  
Letting go of his shoulder, she stared at him. “No?!”  
  
“No,” he repeated, “I don't want you involved in this. When I didn't know where you were earlier... I couldn't stand the thought that something happened to you because of me.” He motioned to the wreck. “This is too dangerous.”  
  
“I don't care.”  
  
“But I do.”  
  
“Oliver, I know we don't have proof and might not find any, but to me it looks like somebody deliberately blew up your boat. Somebody tried to kill you five years ago. And your mother knew or figured it out or... I don't know. But I need to know. If you honestly think I'd let this go, you don't know me at all.”  
  
“It has nothing to do with you.”  
  
“It has everything to do with me! Because this,” she pointed at the yacht, “concerns me, too. It changed my life, too. And it involves my family. Your difficult mother and your pubescent sister and your dapper step-father are the only family I have left. _You_ are the only family I have left.” She squared her shoulders a little. “You know I can help you. Researching. I helped you before. Plus, without me you wouldn't know about this warehouse to begin with!”  
  
His lips ground against each other, but his blue eyes in the midst of the green mess were gentle as he looked at her.  
  
“Oliver, you wanted me to be in, and from now on, until we figure this out, I am in.” She leveled her sharp gaze at him. “End of discussion.”


	16. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know for somebody who claims to be a writer I suck at creative author’s notes, but I need to keep repeating myself: I am overjoyed that you enjoy this story and its characters. I'm so happy that most of your are on-board with the slow burn, that it makes to sense to you, and that you sense the progression within Felicity and Oliver's interactions (even though, for now I feel like adding more platonic plot). That's just the best. The positive response amazes me and I’m thankful for all the love you’re sending my way. Thank you!
> 
> As always: beta-ed by the wonderful **Albiona**.
> 
> On a completely unrelated note: Due to so many people asking me, I decided to give Tumblr a try. I haven't caught up posting everything, but I'l try not to fail social media... Even though, I did fail Facebook. Whatever. You'll find me at juleswritesallwrongs.
> 
> Okay, enough of me. I hope you like this chapter. Much love.

**December 12 th, 2012**  
  
They needed to shed some light on the darkness.  
  
They had failed to do that in the figurative sense until now. The wreck in the warehouse was still an absolute mystery to them. How it got there, why it was there—they didn't know, they could only guess and Oliver didn't want to speculate. He also didn't want to confront his mother yet. He felt like he needed more information first. If he was honest with himself, he hoped for information that would provide them with a reasonable explanation for why the Queen's Gambit was stored in a warehouse by the docks—an explanation that proved his mother had done nothing wrong, that she wasn't involved in whatever had caused the yacht to sink.  
  
The latter possibility kept him up at night, it haunted his dreams. The nightmares had returned in the last week but, unlike before, they didn't revolve around past experiences, around the killings he had witnessed and dealt out himself. He wasn't running through the woods of Lian Yu while the people he had wronged, who had lost their lives because of him, chased him, leaving him no way to escape.  
  
In the last week the image of his mother pulling the trigger of the gun resting against his father's head caused him to awake in cold sweat.  
  
He dreamed that his mother orchestrated his father's death, creating the hell he had lived through in the last five years, and that dream held a very different horror than the ones in which he fled from his past. Last night, he had screamed so loudly when he had snapped awake from his nightmare that he had woken Felicity. She had come running, ready to comfort him, but he didn't want her comfort. All he wanted was for her to stop dropping hints that freaking out over unsure possibilities had to be worse than knowing the truth. All he wanted was for her to finally dig up some information—but until now she had failed to find anything useful. The only traces she could find ended in that warehouse.  
  
But Felicity was still digging through all kinds of data that started with the people who had worked at the pier the day he had boarded the Gambit and ended somewhere in the depth of Moira Queen's email account. Felicity had asked him three times if he really wanted her to go there. She was right: this was a serious breach of privacy. It would be fairer to confront his mother with what they'd found, but Oliver wasn't ready for that confrontation yet.  
  
Every day in the last week Felicity had come to the Foundry – they had agreed to call it that, since Oliver really hated Felicity calling it a cave – to comb through information. Okay, the first day she had spent upgrading his servers, his firewall, and other security measures, and.... He thought he had heard her mutter something about too little RAM and a CPU that was built in the stone age and thus belonged in this cave? Something like that....  
  
She did all that after her workday at Firestorm, after being the boss to twenty-four employees, after business meetings and trying to find a way to turn Tak's alterations to Firestorm's server into a new security software that was interoperable—whatever that computer term meant. Yes, he listened to her when she told him about her day, when she complained about a new setback or about some CEO from another company that didn't like dealing with a blonde woman who is smarter than him. Last night she’d complained about a man who was on the list. The Hood had made a mental note to target him soon.  
  
Oliver had asked her to only work on their quest from the Foundry. Their home and Firestorm were now offline for any Hood-related work.  
  
It was unfamiliar having company in the Foundry—unfamiliar, but nice. For months he had been there on his own, spending hours in silence with his thoughts. When Felicity came, she brought the clicking of her keyboard along. He had grown used to it, to the constant background noise. They could be perfectly quiet with each other, working next to each other without talking, but it was nice to be able to share his thoughts. It was nice to not be alone in this anymore.  
  
He had to admit that he also enjoyed the way Felicity watched him while he worked out—her eyes especially lingered on him when he went up and down the salmon ladder. She was not exactly subtle about it. But feeling her eyes on him was.... It raised thoughts in him that were distracting, and he couldn't use any distractions right now, because he needed to be ready once they found out anything more about that wreck.  
  
Until then he placed his full attention back on the list. In the last three days he had crossed three names off it. That was at least something, and it kept him distracted from the longing that Felicity stirred in him and from the denial he nurtured regarding his mother.  
  
So, there was much darkness inside him, much darkness around him, blacking out the information. They needed light to make them visible.  
  
Felicity had also started to shed light on the darkness in the most literal sense. Last Saturday she had lit the first candle and since then, each day one more had been added. Tonight, on the fifth day of Hanukkah, she had lit five candles. Oliver had been around by accident the first evening. Normally, he was never home around sunset. It had been a coincidence—a lucky one. He’d come back to change for a meeting with Tommy when he had seen her standing next to the Menorah.  
  
On her way from Firestorm to the Foundry, Felicity stopped at home to light the candles and after the first night Oliver made it a point to be there, too. He liked sharing it with her, getting to know that side of her. It was a calming ritual he had come to enjoy. Those thirty minutes they spent in their living room, the Menorah on a table by the window, shining a little brighter with each day as one more candle was lit, held so much hope for him. As a person who had grown up with a Christmas tree in every room, with gifts that could come in the form of the key to a Porsche, with a posh party, and not one single visit to church, all of this intentionality was foreign to Oliver.  
  
But he enjoyed the quietness of it, the simplicity of it. Felicity had explained it to him: the celebration of the triumph of light over darkness, of purity over adulteration, of spirituality over materiality. He liked that, it seemed hopeful to him. He wanted to be a part of that, wanted to be respectful to her religion, wanted to share this ritual with her that had been her mother's favorite, which was why Felicity held it so dear.  
  
She had told him that he could add some Christmas spirit to their apartment, had offered that they should celebrate that together, but he wasn't in the mood. He hadn't celebrated Christmas in the last five years; he mostly hadn't even known what the exact date was. One day had blurred into the other until time hadn’t mattered anymore. He knew that Christmas should be a positive thing, something he ought to have missed, but he couldn't even stand the thought of it. He couldn't imagine spending a quiet night with his mother, with a woman he didn't know how he felt about right now.  
  
He couldn’t bare faking it. On Christmas. Tonight he knew he had to fake it, suffer through a dreadful evening of make-believe. His mother had insisted that he joined her official dinner. The mayor would come, the commissioners of the police and the fire department as well as other members of the one percent and their significant others. Oliver and _his_ significant other were expected to show up as well.  
  
Fittingly, Felicity had acted rather wifely tonight after the Menorah lighting. She had made sure that they were on time and that he wore a tie. Apparently, the dinner was an annual event, but it was the first time that Felicity had been invited. It was just Oliver's luck that his return marked the end of this tradition. He wished _he_ hadn't been invited. He would much rather be in the Foundry, eating take-out and listening to Felicity's fingers fly over the keyboard while he got ready to target the list.  
  
Instead, he wore an Armani suit – and a tie – and stood in the room adjoining the dining room in Queen Mansion, waiting for the dreadful dinner to finally begin while small-talking to people he disliked. People like Malcolm Merlyn, who had arrived without a woman by his side—probably because nobody could stand to be near him.  
  
Oliver had nothing but bad memories when it came to the man; he had been a horrible father to his best friend. His parenting method shifted between the complete ignoring of his son and angry rants to tell Tommy what an incredible disappointment he was.  
  
It felt fitting that the smile the man now sent Felicity never reached his eyes. “I know Moira always urges us to leave business behind, but the head of my IT department suggested we switched to Firestorm software only yesterday.”  
  
“Sounds like you have very capable department heads. That's good advice.”  
  
Felicity was her official self tonight. The way she had delivered that sentence proved it. Felicity Queen spoke slower, enunciated better, added a little playfulness to her voice that was the right mix between charming and professional. She was really good at that. Oliver had known since his homecoming party that she was good at keeping up appearances, but this was the first time that he witnessed her mingling with the powerful of the city.  
  
Malcolm Merlyn reacted with the appropriately soft laugh befitting her statement. “I should have known you would approve.”  
  
“I do,” Felicity Queen answered with a smile, took a sip of her champagne, and turned more serious. “But I know that switching your file management system is not a decision to make lightly. You need to know that it's worth the fuss and that your data is secure. We're always willing to set up a small scale system so that you can test it.” Another small smile showed on her face. “If you’ll excuse the business talk.”  
  
Merlyn looked at her silently for a moment. “I think we should set up a meeting to discuss this in more detail. Have your EA call mine.” Felicity nodded and Merlyn placed his attention on Oliver. “You're a lucky man, Oliver.”  
  
“I am,” he agreed. It was the first thing he had said in the last fifteen minutes. And he didn't feel like saying more.  
  
An awkward moment followed, and Felicity felt the need to fill it with small talk. “I hear Tommy's about to get lucky, too.” The eyes of the men snapped to her and Oliver could practically see her shed her last name as she lost her cool and flinched at her own words. “Get married, I mean,” she rushed out. “He's engaged—that's what I'm referring to.”  
  
Normally, Oliver found Felicity's rambles endearing and let them unfold freely, but with Malcolm Merlyn opposite them he felt like stepping in. “Yes,” he said, “we heard congratulations are in order.”  
  
“No,” the man with the perfectly combed back black hair said, “they really aren't. I don't think that my son being engaged to your sloppy seconds should be congratulated.”  
  
Felicity stiffened next to Oliver, who fought to keep his face even. This, right here, was the reason why he despised Malcolm Merlyn. He was a horrible person.  
  
“Neither should the fact that he's choosing opening a club in a run-down part of town over working in his family's business,” Merlyn left the statement hanging and Oliver could practically hear the unspoken but silently added, ‘ _like you.’_  
  
Luckily, Moira Queen's voice cut through the uncomfortable gap in conversation, “Please, gather in the dining room.”  
  
The cold smile returned to Merlyn's face instantly. “Shall we?”  
  
_________________________________  
  
  
The food tasted amazing. Still, Felicity would have preferred half-cold pizza (the Foundry was just too far away from any decent pizza place) over the perfectly cooked salmon, because it was served with the most awful atmosphere. How could an industrial cellar that was cold and damp (seriously, where did that waterfall constantly falling down from the upper level come from?) be more comfortable than this posh dining room?  
  
Maybe the closeness to Malcolm Merlyn was part of it. He was sitting on the other side of the table, opposite Oliver, on Felicity's left, and Merlyn barely touched the food. Felicity couldn't really blame him, she had lost her appetite in the last thirty minutes as well. Oliver had also lost his voice. He’d been very tight-lipped since the moment he had set foot in Queen Mansion, but he had turned completely mute in the last hour. After the fiasco with Merlyn when casual small talk had taken a very unexpected turn for the worse (seriously, one would think the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company would be better at keeping up appearances) Felicity had decided to follow her husband's lead and keep her mouth shut. Well, not completely shut since she was eating salmon, but she kept from joining in the conversation—especially now that the others were discussing the resident vigilante. There was no way she'd get involved in _that_.  
  
She made it a point not to look at Oliver as the Commissioner of the Starling City Police Department, Miguel Nudocerdo, said, “The thing that people forget is that Robin Hood was a criminal.”  
  
“And stealing from the rich to give to the poor is really the job of the Democrats,” Jeff Clearwater, CEO of Clearwater Solutions, added, only half jokingly.  
  
Chuckling sounded from all around the table—apart from her left, where Oliver sat like a statue, observing the proceedings in a detached manner. He was so good at that, at staying calm and collected. Felicity really wished she could do the same.  
  
“All joking aside, Commissioner,” Malcolm Merlyn joined the conversation, “now crime is down for the first time in five years.”  
  
Nudocerdo made a dismissive gesture. “That's because of the changes my department has implemented.”  
  
“Or perhaps it's because the vigilante's activities have had a chilling effect on the city's criminals,” Walter suggested.  
  
“What are your thoughts, Oliver?” Hearing Malcolm Merlyn's question, Felicity's eyes snapped up, away from her plate. She found Merlyn staring at the man she was married to.  
  
Oliver, of course, met his gaze evenly. “I think the vigilante needs a better code name than ‘The Hood' or ‘Hood Guy'."  
  
That earned him a round of laughter from the other guests. Felicity didn't join in. She turned to Oliver, “I don't think The Hood is such a bad name. At least, it's short and catchy.”  
  
Oliver turned his head and met her gaze. For an instant they stared at each other before a female voice broke the moment. “Yes, right,” Mrs. Clearwater spoke up, “you met him, didn't you? Must have been exciting. What was he like?”  
  
Inwardly, Felicity cursed herself for breaking her own resolution and opening her mouth. She should have just stayed quiet. Silence had settled over the table and Felicity realized that she was the center of attention. She turned toward the woman who sat diagonally opposite to her. “He was very... green.”  
  
Malcolm Merlyn actually chuckled at that. “Maybe we should use that for a name. How about Green Arrow?”  
  
Oliver shook his head. “Lame.”  
  
Thankfully, that discussion was cut short when a policeman entered the dining room and went to the Commissioner. Leaning forward, the policeman whispered something into Nudocerdo's ear. Judging by the sour look that crossed his face, it wasn't good news. Instantly, the Commissioner reached for his napkin and threw it on the table. “I'm sorry, something's come up.”  
  
“Is everything okay?” Oliver asked.  
  
“The vigilante has struck again. He just put an Arrow in Adam Hunt."  
  
That name sounded familiar. Where had she heard that before? Felicity needed a moment before she remembered: that was the first guy Oliver had targeted, back at the party when she had believed him to be talking to Laurel for a really, _really_ long time.  
  
The Commissioner pushed his chair back and offered Moira some polite words, but Felicity didn't really register them because her mind was busy trying to make sense of what she had just heard.  
  
She failed. It stayed senseless.  
  
Oliver had been with Diggle or her the whole day. He’d agreed to go to this dinner with her and give the people on the list a free Wednesday. If Adam Hunt hadn't been arrowed for a few days, she was pretty sure, no, she _knew_ that Oliver couldn't have done it.  
  
He had been tense the whole evening, the encounter with Malcolm Merlyn had managed to increase said tension, but now it had heightened even more. Felicity could practically feel it. She was about to place her hand on Oliver's leg, because there just was _no_ way to leave this dinner without it seeming strange, when the ringing of her cell phone sounded from purse. Taking it out, she was greeted by the picture of Yongtak on the display. “I'm sorry,” she said as she got up. “It’s the office. I have to take this.”  
  
Walking out of the room, she pressed the answer button as she heard Merlyn say, “Oliver, it must be intimidating to be married to such a successful woman.” What an asshole! Of course, a guy like Merlyn believed that to be a belittling insult to test Oliver's manliness.  
  
Her face twisted, but she ignored the irritation and brought her phone to her ear. “Tak—” she said and didn't get any further.  
  
“Fe, you have to come to Firestorm. The server's completely fried.”  
  
______________________________________________  
  
  
They needed more light in the black darkness.  
  
Luckily, Tak had told Katie to bring flashlights.  
  
The spark that had toasted the servers had also killed the power in the whole block. It must have been a massive discharge that had cut through the hardware. Aiming the cone of light at it, she looked at the motherboard in her hands. It couldn't be salvaged. She just dropped it to the pile of destroyed tech junk growing next to her. Yongtak and Katie were doing the same.  
  
For two hours she dug through the ruins that had been Firestorm's heart. And brain. Neither metaphor was wrong, neither left any room for hope, and together they were a death sentence. Angrily, she ripped a still smoking hard drive out and threw it onto the pile with more force than necessary. This just proved that she was spending too much time with Oliver, with his arrowing and his bad anger management.  
  
“It's no use,” Felicity decided. Getting up from the floor, she straightened out her dress—the yellow one with the black lace overlay that she loved so much. It was so sad that it would forever be the dress she wore when her company faced a serious setback. “The servers had a heart attack _and_ are brain dead. You can't be more dead than what they are.”  
  
“We have back-ups of the sold programs,” Yongtak reminded them.  
  
“Our customers’s data and all our financial information are secure as well,” Jerry added. Her EA had refused to leave when Felicity had sent everybody home who had been working late—everybody but Yongtak and Katie, who knew most about the servers next to Felicity herself. Jerry had started writing notes in the dim twilight created by four flashlights twenty minutes ago and Felicity’d wondered what he was writing, but now she found out that he had listed everything that wasn't stored on Firestorm's working servers. It was a lot, actually—Firestorm wouldn't be bankrupted by this, but that didn't make this any less of a mess. Okay, it did make it less of a mess, but it was still pretty messy.  
  
“The progress on the new security program's lost,” Felicity said. “The adjustments we made to—”  
  
“We know,” Yongtak cut her off. “You don't need to tell us! We know this is fucked!” He moved an unruly hand through his hair, causing his black, once perfect pompadour to turn into an even bigger bushy mess than it had been two hours ago when Oliver had dropped Felicity off at Firestorm. He’d forced John Diggle to get out of the car with her so that The Hood could race to Adam Hunt's apartment. John now stood by the door, aiming a flashlight into the room and following the conversation carefully.  
  
“We can do all that again,” Katie reminded, glancing at the other people, “but are we sure that nobody got in?”  
  
“We are,” Tak assured her. “They didn't get in, they tried for weeks, so they took the whole system out.” He gestured toward the row of black cabinets, lifeless where blinking should be, heat and a constant buzzing gone. “And that's a pretty elaborate thing to do. At first, our overvoltage compressor kicked in. I noticed and was already on my way down here, when they gave it a second try—and then... Poof!”  
  
“Poof?” Felicity asked.  
  
“I know. That was kind of a letdown. I think it should have gone out with a bang, too. But... no.”  
  
“Should we call the police?” Katie asked.  
  
“Damian says ‘No,’” Jerry answered. “He says that would spook investors.”  
  
“Oh, great!” Yongtak mocked, “Because that's the biggest problem we have right now.”  
  
“It's a problem we really don't want to have,” Jerry shot back.  
  
Felicity liked everybody's choice of pronoun, the “we” they used to make this a mutual problem. It made her feel like she wasn't facing this alone. They were all Firestorm, they were all part of the we, they were all trying to think of how to handle the situation best and what the smartest course of action was. But Felicity knew that – even though she valued their opinion and always took it into consideration – ultimately, it would be her decision to make, because Firestorm, Inc., was her business. She was in charge.  
  
Felicity raised her hands. “Okay, okay. Let's not bitch at each other.” She took a deep breath and then turned to her EA. “Jerry, call the police.” Since she always liked to give reasons for her orders, she pointed at the pile of dead computer parts. “This is impossible to keep secret. It's best to be upfront about it and not struggle with some kind of cover-up. I'll get Damian here.” She glanced at her watch, it was around eleven o’clock. “Not only because of investors, but because this will cost us. I need a calculation how much: Katie put together a list what we need to replace the server hardware—just a draft. I need a rough cost estimate for Damian to freak over. Tak, you need to figure out how this happened and then find a way to keep this from happening again. I'll help you with that. Firestorm will be closed tomorrow. We need to inform people.” She looked at Jerry who was once again making notes. “Third floor has a paid vacation until they're told otherwise. Second floor....” She thought and glanced at Tak. “Paige, Marlon, Freddy, and James...” Tak nodded, agreeing to her list of names, “...will be on call. We need their help to set up the servers.” She glanced around the room. “Did I forget anything?” Everybody shook their heads. “Okay, then let's do this.”  
  
Everybody turned to the task Felicity had assigned to them. Trapping her flashlight between her arm and her body, she reached for her phone and was scrolling through her contacts for Damian James's number when she felt John Diggle's watchful eyes on her.  
  
The connection Felicity had built with John wasn't as solid as it had been one week ago. She had apologized for her behavior again, for dismissing him like that; he had accepted her apology, but things were different. She liked John, she had believed them to slowly becoming friends, but how could they do that when she was lying to him constantly for a week?  
  
She had told him that she wanted to spend the evenings during Hanukkah at home—to have the evenings off to go to the Foundry with Oliver. She hated lying to John, she had told Oliver that it would be fairer to let him go to find a better job than what they offered him (Felicity really didn't want to think of it as _firing_ John), but Oliver had refused in that way that told her there was no swaying him. Oliver’d said that with everything that was happening at the moment, he needed to know that she was safe.  
  
Feeling his intense stare, she now turned to him. “I'm sorry, John. This will be a long night.”  
  
“That's all right,” he answered. “I'm just wondering why none of you wonders who's behind this attack.... Unless you have a very clear idea who did it.”  
  
Felicity stared at John stupidly for a second. Feeling a cold shiver run through her because there was so much suspicion in her bodyguard's voice while a challenge shone in his eyes, she dug her brain for something to say. Because John's statement was dead-on, while being completely off at the same time. She was convinced that she knew perfectly why her servers had been destroyed, but she had no clue who was behind it. She was trying everything to figure that out for one week, to uncover the people who were behind everything that boiled down to the bombing of the Gambit. She’d failed miserably. But she couldn't think about all of that right now, not when she needed to take charge and organize this mess.  
  
“Of course, it's clear who's behind it,” Tak said. He stood next to his pile of hardware trash and glanced down at it sadly, “I thought it was just some hacker before, but destruction like this only helps our competition. Clearwater Solutions might be behind this or CTX... _or_ ,” he turned to Felicity, “Palmer Technologies.”  
  
“No,” Felicity was absolutely sure about that, “this isn't Ray's style at all. Plus, he's doing this whole Smart Wearables-thing. We aren't competition to him.”  
  
“But maybe your hunk of a husband is competition to Ray. I mean, he wanted to be your hunk of a husband, before _you_ ended the engagement.”  
  
Yes, she had done that and she had never told Yongtak the whole story behind it, the reason why she had thrown the heavy rock that was the engagement ring at his head (or rather past his head, she had terrible aim) and why she knew that Ray wasn't jealous of Oliver _at all_.  
  
“All this speculation is useless,” she said in an effort to end this discussion. “We should leave that to the police and focus on getting this company functional enough so that people can actually work here. That's the only thing I care about.”  
  
Ignoring the looks the two men sent her, she placed her attention back on her cell to call her chief financial officer. Following the cone of her flashlight, she left the server room, which was located in the cellar, and climbed the stairs to the lobby. Her conversation with Damian was short. He was already on his way and they could discuss the rest in person.  
  
Needing a moment to herself to order her thoughts and sort through her emotions, Felicity walked through the lobby and sat down in the chair behind the front desk. She turned off her flashlight and placed it on the desk. Enjoying the quiet and the darkness that was only lit by the moon outside, she leaned back in the chair and sighed. She felt so exhausted, overstrained, swamped with questions she didn't have answers to. She felt helpless, like there was fire all around her that she needed to put out, but she lacked an extinguisher.  
  
A soft knock coming from the front door startled Felicity. The way she jumped up from her seat and that her heart beat faster were proof how on edge she was. Recognizing Oliver's silhouette through the glass door, she was about to walk toward it, when John's voice stopped her. “I'll open it.”  
  
When had her life taken a turn that had ended with her being forbidden from opening the door of her own company at night? The sudden thought depressed her.  
  
Her bodyguard unlocked the door and Oliver stepped into the room. He was wearing his dress suit again, but the fact that he had lost the tie told Felicity that he had donned a different suit in the two and a half hours he had been gone.  
  
“Mr. Queen,” John greeted.  
  
“Diggle,” Oliver answered. “Could you give Felicity and me a moment?”  
  
Diggle hesitated, but then he nodded. “Just get out of the lobby,” he ordered.  
  
Felicity grabbed the flashlight. “Let's go into my office.” She looked at John. “Damian will be here any moment, could you let him in?” Accepting Diggle's nod, Felicity headed to the stairs.  
  
Oliver followed her. Whatever would happen next between them was best to happen in private—Oliver's body language told her that perfectly. He was his most tense version again, his posture was stiff, his movements were deliberate. Whatever he had found out regarding Adam Hunt, it wasn't good.  
  
Once her office door was closed, Felicity turned to him, but he spoke up first, “How bad is it?”  
  
She sighed. “Bad. Our servers are beyond repair. Somebody made sure to destroy all information that was on there.”  
  
“Like the stuff you gathered about Tempest?”  
  
“Like that.”  
  
The tension in him seemed to grow, his features tightened, and his mouth twisted in suppressed anger. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”  
  
Felicity's first reaction was a smile, because it was nice of him to ask. It was nice of him to put her mess first when she could see in his face that he had his own problems. It was a small thing, but those small things mattered to Felicity because they were a sign that he cared about her. He had this way of showing her without really telling her—by showing up unexpectedly in a suit, by breaking his silence in time to save her from embarrassing herself in front of Malcolm Merlyn, by being there when she recited the blessings and lit the Hanukkah lights. The latter was the boldest silent statement, one she really appreciated. It made her heart dance in the most unexpected way.  
  
But as much as it meant to Felicity that he put her disaster first, it was just too obvious that he had his own. Her smile vanished again. “No, but thanks for offering.” She took a step toward him, nearly into his personal space. “What did you find out about Hunt?”  
  
“Somebody killed him—using arrows.” His voice was all suppressed aggravation.  
  
Felicity frowned up at him. “Who would kill Adam Hunt with an arrow? I mean, other than you?”  
  
Oliver obviously didn't like her hint and kept his answer short. “A setup, maybe.”  
  
“You mean someone's looking to cover up killing Hunt by making it look like the work of The Hood?”  
  
“Whoever he was, he's good. The grouping on Hunt's chest was tight. It's a compound bow, most likely. The guy's a legitimate archer.”  
  
No wonder Oliver was so guarded and tense; this revelation must have rattled him. Felicity's first instinct was to comfort him, but she didn't know what to say to make this better or where to look for a bright side. Maybe it was the fact that she had her own catastrophe to deal with that was hard to see in a positive light. All that had helped her in the server room earlier was to look at this rationally and do something to fix this. And she knew Oliver well enough to be sure that he needed to do the same, to take action. She thought for a moment before she reasoned, “Someone so good would be particular about his choice of arrows....”  
  
Slowly he nodded. “We get an arrow, we get a bead on where he purchased them.” His eyes met hers in the darkness lit by the moonlight streaming through the windows and the flashlight. “You could find that out, right?”  
  
“Probably, if you get me an arrow.” She could practically see a plan forming in his head, so she tipped her own and looked at him, “So, what are you gonna do?”  
  
His face and his voice was even as he answered, “What anyone does when they need help. Call a cop.”


	17. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You wonderful, wonderful people! It’s your pure awesomeness that made me overcome the writer’s block that clogged up my brain (which did not affect this chapter but one further down the posting road). I am very thankful for all the positivity you continue to send my way, it turns all of this even more enjoyable. Your amazing comments mean the world to me.
> 
> A very special thanks to **Albiona** whose insightful comments improved a very crucial moment in this chapter. I couldn’t do this without you!
> 
> Also: Happy International Women’s Day! I think we should celebrate this special day with some Olicity feels. That’s all I feel like saying about this chapter. ;-) I hope you enjoy. *hugs* Jules

**December 13 th 2012**  
  
The sight of the table made her smile. It was Oliver's way of thanking her for encrypting a cell phone and installing voice changing software that activated automatically each time a call was answered. She had set up the Hood-phone (Oliver hadn't been too happy with her calling it that) when she had returned home from Firestorm so late in the night that it had practically been early morning. Oliver wanted to send it to Detective Lance as quickly as possible to talk him into giving an arrow to The Hood—not in the hurtful, injuring way but in the handing over evidence kind of way. Oliver was probably doing that right now, calling Detective Lance, that is.  
  
Felicity, on the other hand, was treating herself to a breakfast, courtesy of Oliver. He often did that, bringing her food and making sure that she ate. Maybe, it was an island thing. You couldn't just go and buy food there—he had probably learned the value of it and what it meant to be hungry. She knew that he disliked her habit of limiting her breakfast to one cup of coffee. She had heard the “most important meal of the day”-comment more than enough in the last two months. Normally, she just ignored it, but today she would treat herself to one croissant with jam – just one – because she had earned herself some comfort food after everything that had happened last night – and for everything that would surely happen today. She sank down on her favorite seat.  
  
Damian had insisted on a press release to get ahead of the rumors, which had reminded Felicity that she had always wanted to hire a PR manager.  
  
Now it was too late.  
  
Felicity Queen had gotten used to ignoring the press. Reporters usually didn't care about her CEO-side, all they cared about was personal dirt and gossip—especially since Oliver had returned. But now she had to actually acknowledge the press and actively deal with them. She would much rather dig through fried computer parts than do that.  
  
In the back of her mind Felicity was aware that she was worrying about the press because she didn't want to worry about the other, more threatening things she could worry about: like the fact that somebody had targeted her with the most brute force you could use when it came to virtual aggression. Or the fact that she needed to replace 300,000 dollars worth of hardware plus priceless research. Or the fact that somebody was trying to frame The Hood and, while Detective Lance might have noticed that his boss Commissioner Nudocerdo was perfectly fine with the vigilante taking the blame. To him, it was better than admitting there might be a second arrow shooting guy in town. All of that summed up to the fact that people were targeting her and Oliver simultaneously—and that was too much to worry about. So she just concentrated on the press. It was a smaller problem she could actually deal with.  
  
But first, she would have breakfast. Looking down at her plate and the croissant she had smothered in jam, a childish thought entered her mind. Grabbing her phone, she gave into her inner teenager and took a picture of her plate. Adding a “Most important meal of the day served. Thank you,” she sent the photo to Oliver. Smiling, she set her phone aside and took a bite, her eyes closing with pleasure. It was time to finally tackle this day.  
  
_______________________________  
  
  
Oliver shouldn't be eating French fries.  
  
That observation wasn't based on calories, but on the fact that he shouldn't be sitting at Big Belly Burger. He didn't want to take a break; he wanted Lance to call him back with a dead drop plan for a black arrow. He wanted a lead to follow, wanted somebody to hit, so he could leave this episode behind and get to the important stuff, which was finding out more about the wreck stored in a warehouse.  
  
The important stuff was the reason why Felicity's face had greeted him from almost every TV he had crossed paths with today. The cyber-attack had ended the constant rising of Firestorm's stock value. The immediate fallout hadn't been as crushing as Damian had feared it to be last night, but it was still bad enough.  
  
It was made worse by the fact that Oliver knew that Felicity's research was the reason for all of this. He didn't have real proof, but he just _knew_.  
  
He knew that he was the root of every evil that had happened to Felicity and that was still happening to her.  
  
The thought that all of this was threatening her company, everything she had built for herself, made him want to get to the bottom of this even more, because he needed to put an end to it.  
  
“I think there should be a national holiday for the guy who invented French fries. Or at least a statue or something.”  
  
Thea's voice made Oliver take his eyes off the TV hanging behind the counter, where the images of the press conference Felicity had held around noon still played. Last night, during the final crisis meeting Oliver had witnessed before taking Felicity home, they had settled for a press release. When that had turned into a press conference, Oliver had no idea, but he had watched the live broadcast in the Foundry earlier and he thought she had done a very good job.  
  
“I love that dress Felicity's wearing,” Thea commented now, motioning toward the TV. “It's Diane von Furstenberg. There's this gorgeous long version of that dress in her collection. I thought about wearing at the Christmas party, but now that Felicity's worn it first, I'll need to find another outfit.”  
  
For a second Oliver stared at his sister while he ordered her words, trying to find the one thing in her statement that bothered him, “What Christmas party?”  
  
Instead of answering, Thea's eyes moved past her brother and onto a teenage boy who’d stopped next to the table, smirking, “Hi, Thea.”  
  
“Hi, Shane,” his sister answered and, with a French fry in hand, gestured to Oliver, who sat opposite to her, “This is my brother Oliver.”  
  
“Nice to meet you, Thea's brother,” Shane answered with a smug expression that rubbed Oliver in the wrongest way possible. The dislike got even worse when Shane continued talking, “I bet the food on that island is better than the stuff they're serving here, huh?”  
  
“You'd lose that bet.”  
  
The hint bounced off Shane and Oliver hated how much this ass-hat reminded him of his own younger self. Acting as if the disapproving older brother wasn't sitting right there, he focused on Thea, “We're heading down to the bay to hang out if you want to come.”  
  
“Thanks,” Thea waved at Oliver, the fry still in hand, “but I'm spending the afternoon with my brother.”  
  
Shane didn't seem too disappointed. He simply offered “Another time,” and served it with a smirk. With one last “see ya,” he left.  
  
Oliver looked after him until the door shut behind him. He turned back to Thea. “How do you know that Shane guy?”  
  
“We rob banks and smoke crack together.” She took a bite of her fry.  
  
“That's funny, yeah,” Oliver mocked, not amused at all. “I have a feeling I'm not gonna be a fan.”  
  
“You don't even know him,” Thea answered, the annoyance Oliver had heard so often creeping into her voice. But she caught herself quickly and just said, “Let's change the subject.”  
  
“Fine,” Oliver leaned a little forward in his seat, “you were going to explain to me what Christmas party you're talking about.”  
  
“What do you mean, what party? The annual Queen Christmas party, of course.”  
  
“Felicity told me that you all didn’t host a party in the last five years.”  
  
Letting a fry drop onto the red basket, Thea sank back in her seat. “That's why I want to have one. Christmas sucked while you were gone, and now that you're back I thought we could end the suckage.”  
  
Oliver swallowed heavily. He really, really wasn't in the mood for any of this, not for Christmas, not for a party.  
  
“Remember how we used to race to see who could finish their candy crane first?” Thea asked and smiled, “I always won.”  
  
He remembered, and it made him smile, too. She had only been a kid back then. That last Christmas before the _Gambit_ , she’d been a skinny girl whose curly hair had been all over the place and who had cried heartbreakingly because she would get braces the next year. The image of that girl had been chased away by the reality of his teenage sister, who knew shady guys and spent her nights partying and getting drunk.  
  
Something Felicity told him before Thanksgiving popped up into his head: she had claimed that Thea needed some support, some attention, some family. Maybe his sister's wish to recreate a positive childhood memory was the proof that Felicity had been right.  
  
The smile was still on his face as he said, “No. You cheated.”  
  
“Me?!” Thea exaggerated consternation. “Never!” She sat up straight again, looking serious and slightly pleading, “If I plan a party will you come?”  
  
“You want to plan the party? Why don't we just spent Christmas Day together? You and me?”  
  
Thea stared at him for an instant as she thought about his words. Her voice was quiet as she said, “I want the whole family to spend Christmas Day together—not just you and me, but you and me and mom and Walter and Felicity.”  
  
“Felicity is Jewish.”  
  
“I already called her and she said she'd be there.”  
  
Then why was his sister even asking him?! If the girls had already agreed on everything, then it was settled anyway. “Fine,” Oliver gave in, “we'll be there. But there's really no need for a party.”  
  
“Yes, there is,” Thea objected, “because dad threw one every year. And... I want to do this in his memory. Christmas was his thing, this party was his thing. I was never allowed to stay up, but I would creep out of my room to the stairs. I always wanted to be downstairs with all of you.”  
  
“It wasn't all that.”  
  
“It probably wasn't, but it was something that I looked forward to. It's something that reminds me of dad…. Mom never talked about him after you disappeared. The first time she did was at Thanksgiving and I liked that.... I want to throw this party in dad's honor. And it's mom's birthday on Sunday. We didn't really celebrate that either while you were gone. I want to change that this year.”  
  
How the hell was Oliver supposed to deny his baby sister this wish?  
  
“You don't have to do anything,” Thea urged now, “just show up and look fantastic—as fantastic as you can manage anyway.”  
  
Oliver kept from rolling his eyes. “Okay,” he agreed, “if you get the okay from mom and Walter, I'll be there.” The smile that showed on his sister's face was definitely worth suffering through a tuxedo and hours of pointless small talk.  
  
  
  
**December 14 th 2012**  
  
A cyber-attack could not be photographed, so why – the hell – were there so many paparazzi outside of Firestorm? They were crowding up the sidewalk and nearly blinding Oliver with their flashlights as he waited for John Diggle to open the door from the inside. Oliver bet that the bodyguard took more time than necessary, making him wait longer, but Oliver refused to react to that. He simply stepped into the foyer while Diggle locked the door again.  
  
Their relationship had always been rocky, but it had taken a turn for the worse since last week. Felicity had suggested getting a new bodyguard, but despite everything that stood between Oliver and Diggle, despite the fact that Diggle obviously believed the worst of Oliver, the ex-soldier was a very capable man who cared about Felicity's safety. There couldn't be a better person out there to be in charge of protecting her when Oliver wasn't around. Which was why Oliver had decided to keep it professional when he was around the other man.  
  
And he did so now. “Where's Felicity?”  
  
“They’re trying to turn on the first server.”  
  
“How's that going?”  
  
“Yongtak's hair’s a mess.”  
  
“Oh,” Oliver sighed, “that bad.... I still have to see her.”  
  
Diggle crossed his impressive arms in front of his chest. “What could possibly be that important? She's fighting to bring her company back on track.”  
  
Oliver met his gaze. “Nightfall's in ninety minutes.”  
  
“You're right,” Diggle said sarcastically. “She needs to have that information right away.”  
  
Knowing that the other man would feel stupid in about ten seconds, Oliver explained, “It's Friday and the Hanukah candles need to be lit before Shabbat starts. She told me this morning, but I'm sure she forgot with everything that's going on.” Oliver had been right: a slightly caught look crossed Diggle face. Oliver made it a point to not react. “I'm here to pick her up. You can head home early tonight.”  
  
They’d have to head to the Foundry after their Hanukah pause so Felicity could track the arrow that Oliver had just fetched from a heating vent on the corner of O'Neil and Adams: Detective Lance had left him an early Christmas present which told Oliver that the other archer was a professional. The arrow was a custom job with a Teflon-coated titanium blade serrated to split the bone, a shaft made of a specialized polymer, which was stronger than a typical carbon fiber.  
  
Lance had needed another body to turn up before he reached out to him and handed over the arrow. Nelson Ravich had been found with an arrow in his heart this morning. Oliver and Felicity had heard it on the news over breakfast. It was another name The Hood had crossed off the list, which made Felicity wonder if they were faced with a copycat or somebody who was calling The Hood out. Oliver didn't know, and it didn't matter: either way the other archer had to be stopped.  
  
But all that was information that Diggle didn't need, couldn't get.  
  
The bodyguard's arms were crossed in front of his chest. “I’ll decide when I call it a night,” he said, adding a “sir,” as an afterthought.  
  
“You're still my employee,” Oliver reminded him.  
  
“No, your mother is my employer. Even though you turned it into my job to keep Felicity safe and I will do that how I see fit.”  
  
Oliver tested different reactions to this in his head, but none would improve this situation. He decided on a shrug, “Do what you want.” Without giving Diggle a chance to say another word, Oliver turned around and headed toward the server room.  
  
  
  
**December 16 th 2012**  
  
She had sent him into a trap—a trap that included a bomb. Felicity’d seen the burn spots on his leather gear when he had returned to the Foundry last night, and the sight had shaken her horribly. Oliver, on the other hand, had only been angry. He had attacked his training dummy with a fierceness she had never experienced from him before. He hadn't stopped until his hands were reddened and his body was covered in sweat.  
  
The latter had left Felicity a little awkward, because, despite everything, it was such a nice sight.  
  
Kristina had insisted that there was nobody who was more allowed to check Oliver out than Felicity. In fact, at lunch yesterday, when the best friends had finally discussed Felicity's growing feelings for Oliver, Kristina had claimed that Felicity had an obligation to check him out, because he was her husband. But Felicity knew that that wasn't true. He might be her husband on paper, but he wasn't her _husband_.  
  
He was her paper-husband who always had to train bare-chested and leave his paper-wife flustered.  
  
Talk about messed up situations.  
  
If you now added a bomb, it turned even messier.  
  
“You look worried,” Oliver's statement brought her back out of her thoughts and to their main room, where all eight Hanukah candles were about to burn down.  
  
“I am,” she admitted and turned to Oliver who sat next to her, looking fantastic in a dress suit just as his sister had asked for. “Wednesday somebody blew up my servers. Yesterday somebody tried to blow you up. And today we're going to a Christmas party that your sister claims will be _the bomb_ —with our luck lately, she might actually be right.”  
  
Oliver reached for her hand, cradled it in both of his. He had come to do that often, and Felicity had come to like that he did. She found that it calmed her. It was a touch that could only be described as platonic, but to her it seemed intimate. At least, that’s how it felt. It indicated a deeper connection to her, with her. He didn't touch anybody else like that, didn't hold on to anybody else this way. And she liked the exclusiveness of their touch.  
  
If Kristina knew, she'd have a field day.  
  
Talk about messed up situations.  
  
To Felicity it was almost a philosophical question: was she still crushing or already falling further?  
  
“I know you said your family never did Hanukah gifts,” Oliver said, managing to change topics seamlessly, “but I wanted to break that tradition.” His right let go of hers, dug into his jacket pocket, and produced a tell-tale little box. He didn't celebrate the moment, he simply held it out to her. “For you. Thanks for dealing with me and…” he searched for words and after a short hesitation settled for, “all the explosions.”  
  
She felt her heart beat heavier as she reached for the blue box that she knew contained jewelry and made her think of one type of jewelry in particular. Earrings, she told herself. There could be earrings in there. The lid opened with a soft “plok.”  
  
No earrings.  
  
Damn it. A ring.  
  
And it was absolutely gorgeous. He had bought her a gorgeous ring. A gorgeously expensive ring. What did that mean? Did that mean anything? Slowly, her eyes travelled up and met his, “You're giving me a ring?”  
  
“I'm giving you jewelry.”  
  
“Technically, a ring is jewelry. With special meaning.”  
  
Oliver sighed and to her it felt like he had expected such a conversation. “I saw the ring when we bought the bracelet for mom,” he explained, “and I thought it was pretty. And that it fit you.”  
  
“Oh, it's not pretty,” Felicity objected, “it's absolutely gorgeous.”  
  
“Then it fits you even better.” Her face heated up, while Oliver acted as if he hadn't just said what he had said. “It's just jewelry, Felicity. There aren't any strings attached to it. It's just something I hope you like.”  
  
“I do. I like it." She looked at the ring. It looked like silver, but knowing the Queens she’d bet it was platinum. It was delicate and reminded Felicity of vines intertwining. They were circling around an oval emerald. She looked at the green stone and smiled. She liked that it wasn't a diamond. And there was such double meaning attached to it that nobody would understand but her. She probably liked that best about the whole gift. She smiled at him. “Actually, I love it. Thank you.”  
  
Since he made it a point not to slip it onto her finger, she took it out of the box herself and tried it on. It fit perfectly. How did he know? “Wow,” she said in an effort to lighten the mood and not betray her heavily beating heart, “you really set the bar high for Christmas gifts.”  
  
“Looks good,” he complimented, ignoring her previous statement, “green, it really goes with anything. So, there's basically no reason for you to take it off again.”  
  
Felicity stared at him – because, _honestly_ , what was that supposed to mean? – when he just got up. “Time to go to the dreadful party.”  
  
___________________________________  
  
  
Thea had done her best to make the dreadful party less dreadful. The house was a Christmas wonderland. The only thing missing was fake snow, but Oliver wouldn't be shocked if Thea had saved that for a midnight surprise. You actually had to watch were you were standing, because there was mistletoe everywhere—and people took them very seriously, as evidenced by Vera Turner, the wife of the former director of Starling City Central Bank. Her husband had passed away due to old age in the spring and Vera had taken advantage of the opportunity to plant a very wet kiss on Oliver's lips.  
  
His first kiss since he had returned to Starling City.  
  
That could have gone better.  
  
He glanced at Felicity on the other side of the room, conversing with Doris van Sutton, one of his mother's closest friends. Felicity looked beautiful tonight. She always looked pretty, but tonight she had followed Thea's request to look fantastic—Felicity managed that effortlessly. Her hair was falling in soft curls over her bare shoulders, her red dress was hugging her curves perfectly, contrasting the green stone of her new ring so that you couldn't miss it. Oliver had known that Felicity might question the motif behind this present, but Oliver knew that as long as that ring was on her finger, he could breathe a little bit easier.  
  
Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Standing in a doorframe connected to the foyer, Oliver craned his neck toward the door as a maid revealed a teenage boy with bad Bieber-hair. (Kristina had taught him that phrase during Firestorm's Halloween-party. She’d declared herself his pop-cultural adviser while emptying the last drops of the punch-bowl.) Oliver couldn't believe that _that_ guy was here. Not thinking any further, he walked toward him, toward Shane, Thea’s friend from Big Belly Burger Oliver wasn’t a fan of.  
  
“Hey, dude,” Shane greeted Oliver and raised his hands in a surrendering manner, presenting cheap flowers while doing so. “Thea invited me. I hope that's cool.”  
  
It wasn't. The glare Oliver targeted him with should tell the kid so perfectly. Shane seemed completely unfazed. “The flowers are for your mother. I have to wish her a happy birthday.” With that Shane walked past Oliver toward the living room.  
  
Exhaling deeply, Oliver looked after the ass-hat. Noticing John Diggle standing by the wall with a slightly amused expression on his face, Oliver met the other man's eyes and commented dryly, “Smooth.”  
  
A smile that looked involuntary twitched onto the bodyguard’s face. He’d taken up a strategically good spot where he could watch the door and the main party room. Oliver couldn't have picked better. “The kid's trouble,” Diggle said.  
  
A nod was the only acknowledgement Oliver gave to this very truthful statement before he stiffly walked back next door and to Felicity, who was still talking to his mother’s friend he had never liked much.  
  
“Oliver,” Doris van Sutton greeted him as he moved next to Felicity, “your wife just told me that you gave her this absolutely breathtaking ring. I must say you have exquisite taste.”  
  
“As evidenced by my wife,” Oliver said and found that a very smooth line.  
  
Doris van Sutton smiled. “I must say that it's wonderful, seeing you two together. After five years of separation. Everybody was sure that your divorce was just a matter of time, but looking at you two I can see how wrong they were. Everybody will be so pleased to hear it.”  
  
Oliver pushed down the instinct to ask that woman who “everybody” was and what business they had debating his and Felicity's business. His mood hadn't been the best before the brief encounter with Shane, but now it managed to sink even lower. He was digging his brain for something to say that didn't count as bad manners when his mother saved him from saying anything.  
  
“Doris,” Moira Queen joined them and greeted her friend with kiss on her cheek, “I’m so glad you could make it.”  
  
“Of course, Moira. I was thrilled when I got the invitation. Happy birthday. I know we've both reached an age where we stopped counting years, but it's still a date to celebrate.”  
  
The women shared a laugh and Moira nodded, “Indeed.” She raised her hand and showed off the bracelet around her wrist. “Look what a beautiful gift my children gave me.”  
  
Doris van Sutton inspected the bracelet and gushed adequately while Oliver noticed Felicity turning to look at him. He felt her gaze burn into his skull. Confused, he met her eyes and was surprised to see anger in them. He frowned at her in question and then, suddenly, it hit him. “Mom,” he hurried to say, “the bracelet is a gift from Felicity, Thea, and me.”  
  
Moira turned to look at him and, not missing a beat, said, “Of course, Oliver. As I said: my children gave it to me—that includes my daughter-in-law.”  
  
Doris van Sutton smiled. “Oh, Moira, it's so wonderful that your family's together again. Of course, Robert is forever missed – may he rest in peace – but it must be a joy to add a new daughter to the family.”  
  
“It is.” Moira agreed, and Oliver couldn't help but be impressed by how good his mother was at this, at playing perfect, happy family. Because she hadn't referred to Felicity when she had been talking about all her children, she meant Thea and him—the two people whose names Oliver had put on the card. He would so pay for that later.  
  
“I wish my Spencer would finally find a sweet girl and settle down,” Doris sighed now. “He's getting too old for his escapades. And I can't wait for the joy of grandchildren.”  
  
Oliver felt both his mother and Felicity stiffen, but Moira's smile didn't waver one bit. “Yes, that's a lovely thought. Doris, I have to steal Oliver and Felicity from you. Thea is insisting on a family picture.”  
  
After a round of polite smiles, the Queens headed toward the fireplace where Thea stood with Walter and the photographer she had hired. Oliver and Felicity walked one step behind Moira and Felicity took the opportunity to slap his shoulder. He sent her a pointed look, because, really, the whole gift/card thing wasn't _that_ bad. Then he focused on his sister, sending her a fake smile. “Here we are, where do you want us?”  
  
Thea gestured to her left, “Mom and Walter here,” and her right, “Felicity and Oliver here.”  
  
Biting back a comment about how she always had to be the center of attention, Oliver moved where he had been directed and put his arm around Felicity, tugging her to his body. The photographer raised the camera and took a few pictures until he finally thanked them with a smile and a nod to indicate he had enough shots. Great, another duty ticked off a too-long list.  
  
He was about to ask Thea what else she had planned for tonight when he saw the look on his sister's face. She was glaring at her mother. “Can't you at least pretend for one night? You say you're working on working things out, but you can't even bear to stand next to each other for a picture!” She sent Walter a look full of disappointment before she spun around in her best diva-act and raced out of the room.  
  
An uncomfortable silence fell over the Queen-Steeles and spread across the whole room. Of course, Thea had to speak loud enough for everybody to notice. Bringing a fake smile to her face, Moira raised her glass. “Thank you all so much for coming and celebrating the upcoming holidays as well as my birthday with us. It sure has been an eventful year and we were blessed with a miracle,” she gestured toward Oliver who was stunned by his mother's reaction to the situation. “It has left us hopeful for the things to come, and we want to share some of our joy. My husband Walter and I decided to set up a free clinic to help the less fortunate of our city. It will be located in the Glades and focus on initiating a positive change in that part of the city. We hope to make a difference and honor a man who always believed that you could do just that, make a difference. The Robert Queen Memorial will be starting its work next year.”  
  
Applause rang out in response and Oliver fought to keep his face even, his lips relaxed. He didn't notice that his grip on Felicity's shoulder tightened until she brought her hand up and placed it on his. Instantly, he let his arm drop again. Oliver turned to his mother, but she was placing her attention on a middle aged man addressing her.  
  
“That's a nice idea.” Felicity looked at Walter. “The Glades needs somebody to care. I think it's a good cause.”  
  
Walter looked at her. “Yes.” For a second it seemed like that was all he wanted to say to that, but then he straightened up. “It's time somebody invests in the future of that part of town.”  
  
Oliver looked at his stepfather. “Is everything alright between my mother and you?”  
  
“I'm sure it will work itself out.” Walter sent him a short smile before he took a sip of his drink and walked away.  
  
“That sounds like saying no without say no,” Felicity commented.  
  
Oliver kept from sighing. He had never wanted to come here, to this party, he would much rather be somewhere, anywhere else. He was here for his sister—who had thrown a fit and raced off. “I'll talk to Thea,” he decided.  
  
“Oliver.” There was a clear warning in Felicity's voice, making it obvious that she wanted him to stay and talk to her before he talked to Thea. He chose to ignore it; he had some things to say to his sister. He kept walking and made it to the foyer before Felicity caught up with him.  
  
She reached for his arm, finally stopping him. “Oliver.”  
  
“Thea wanted this party and now she's hiding in her room,” he said, calmly. “She isn't a child anymore and she should learn that there are moments when she has to keep up appearances.”  
  
Suddenly, Felicity looked awfully annoyed. “Oh, great, the official Queen family motto.” Hearing that, Oliver glared at her, but he had come to realize that his patented intimidating tactic never worked on Felicity. She just ignored him and said, “You and I are very good at pretending. Your mother trained me well in the first months I spent in Starling after our Vegas-meeting, and you…. Your pretending skills are unmatched. But Thea never got the hang of it. She might not be a child anymore, but she's still a teenager who tried to create the Christmas party of her dreams to honor her dead father and it didn't turn out as perfectly as she dreamt it would be. Keep that in mind, before you let your own frustrations out on her.”  
  
It was just typical Felicity that she had to go and put him in his place by being calm and _right_.  
  
That was the worst combination, really, because it managed to knock him off his high horse. Staring at her, he tried to sort out his emotions and his next best action. “You think I should leave her be?”  
  
“No, I think you should talk to her, but keep from yelling at her.”  
  
“But she made a scene.”  
  
“It's what Thea does best,” Felicity shrugged. “Don't give her reason for another one.”  
  
“Fine,” he pressed out. When he turned toward the stairs, he saw that Diggle had followed their exchange. The all-seeing eyes of John Diggle. Lately, he was everywhere.  
  
Taking two steps at a time, Oliver headed up to the first floor and then down the hall to Thea's room. He knocked as he opened the door and was faced with the very unexpected view of his sister laying on the bed, a boy with bad Bieber-hair on top of her, making out. Without thinking any further, Oliver marched into the room and pulled the – thankfully still entirely clothed – guy off his sister. The boy stumbled backward with the force Oliver used, but caught himself before falling.  
  
Oliver glared at the kid, his voice an angry growl, “Get lost!”  
  
“Dude,” Shane drawled, “as I said, Thea invited me.”  
  
“And I'm kicking you out!” Oliver had positioned himself between the bed, where Thea still lay, and the guy he was straining not to hit. Now he took one threatening step forward. “Hit the road!”  
  
Seeing the murderous look in Oliver's eyes, Shane couldn't keep the cool act up any longer. Adding a half-hearted “whatevs,” to the conversation, he quickly retreated and hurried out of the door.  
  
Thea was getting up when Oliver slowly turned to face her.  
  
“What are you doing?!” Thea asked, accusation clearly audible in her voice.  
  
With that Felicity's words were forgotten. Anger took over. “Funny thing.” He didn't quite yell, but his voice was a little too loud. “I was going to ask you the same thing, because there's a party going on that nobody wanted but you!”  
  
“I know!” Thea shot back. “Everybody made it perfectly clear that they were just doing me a favor. Mom! Walter! Felicity! But most of all YOU!”  
  
“I told you I didn't want a party.”  
  
“Yes,” Thea crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes, you did. But I thought you could suck it up for one night. I thought after Thanksgiving maybe things would be different, but they just aren't. You don't care about us! You don't care about me.”  
  
“I'm sorry,” Oliver said before he could stop himself, “not everything in my life’s about you.”  
  
“I don't need everything, but at least _something_.”  
  
Oliver threw his hands up, because he couldn't take it anymore, the constant fighting with her was wearing him down, he couldn't keep on walking on eggshells around her. “Then tell me what to do, Thea. Tell me what I can do to live up to your expectations. Because I'm trying. I'm trying to be a good brother and a good son. I'm here, I was trying to be a good sport, but apparently I still fucked up.”  
  
Silence sank over the Queen siblings as they looked at each other. Oliver was breathing a little heavier than usual as he watched his sister carefully.  
  
Anger had gotten the best of him, once again, he wished he had just kept his mouth shut. He had spent years training his self-control, spent years hiding his true emotions from the people around him, built up walls around himself that he had believed to be solid. He was such a fool, he realized now. Those walls were too easy to tear down, his self-control was laughable at best when it came to people he was truly emotionally connected with.  
  
A sadness clouded Thea's eyes he hated to see. “You're right,” Thea said now. “It's not you. It's me.”  
  
“Thea,” he sighed, “don't give me that line.”  
  
“I need to accept that things will never be as they were in this family. No matter how fancy the party we throw, we'll never ever be like we were again.” She looked him in the eyes. “I get that now.”  
  
He did not know what to say, because it was the truth. Things had changed, they couldn't be as they were. Their father was dead, her mother was involved in things that robbed him of his sleep, he was married to a woman who was turning out to be the best mistake he could have ever made and whose company was in deep shit, and he had a secret that he never wanted the rest of his family to find out. Those were important things to him, those were things that guided his actions and that captivated his thoughts. Those were things he had to focus on. He had come back solely to right the wrongs committed by his family. He could never be the Ollie he was—and he didn't really want to, because he despised that guy. He had been worse than Shane, and Shane was bad.  
  
“Thea....” he started and didn't know how to continue that sentence.  
  
His sister spared him from having to do so. “Please, leave me alone.”  
  
As much as he knew that he probably shouldn't follow her request, he had nothing helpful to say. He didn't know how to improve the situation, what to say or do to make her feel better. He wished he could do either, but he couldn't. He didn't know where to even start.  
  
Turning her back to him, Thea showed him that she had nothing left to say to him either, and Oliver chose to just do as she asked him. His steps were inaudible on the soft carpet as he left the room and there was only the softest “click” as he closed the door.  
  
He dared to use this moment to himself to close his eyes and take a deep breath. He had messed that up, royally.  
  
“Oliver.”  
  
Felicity's voice ripped him out of his self-chiding. He saw her heading down the hall with quick, sure steps. Not slowing down, she reached for his arm and pulled him along.  
  
“What—” he started, but didn't get any further. It seemed to be a pattern tonight that he didn't get to finish one thought before the next thing to process popped up.  
  
“This is the second gathering in a week at Queen Mansion that the Commissioner didn't get to enjoy. I honestly don't know why Thea invited that guy to begin with. I mean, she told me she didn't invite Tommy and Laurel, because they were so anti-me—which is a nice gesture, really, I appreciate that. But why would she invite the police commissioner? Is he a family friend?”  
  
Felicity had just opened the door leading to his mother's office and stepped inside when Oliver freed himself of her grip. “Felicity, what are you trying to tell me?”  
  
Instead of answering, she reached for the remote and switched on the TV. Instantly, the face of a heavily crying woman filled the flat screen. Panic was visible in her eyes, immense fear was twisting up her features, tears were dripping from her chin, and her nose was running.  
  
“The other archer,” Felicity said, finally answering his question, “he's taken hostages.”  
  
Oliver focused his attention on the TV and the shaking woman. “Happy holidays, Starling City,” she was reading a note, stuttering out words in her agony. “For the past two months, this city has been laid siege by a vigilante. But the police have been unable to bring him to justice because they lack the will to do what justice demands.” She sobbed stronger now, making it hard to understand what she was saying. “I will kill one hostage every hour in the name of this vigilante until he surrenders himself to my authority.”  
  
Closing his hands into fists, Oliver stared at the screen. Just when he had thought that things couldn't get worse, they reached a whole new level of awful. He might not be able to do anything about any of the other things that had rattled him or gone wrong tonight, but he could do something about this. He knew how to fix this, fixing this hostage-situation was easy.  
  
He had only taken two steps when he was forced to stop. Felicity was blocking the door. “Police are on the scene, Oliver.” Pleadingly, she looked at him. “I think you should let them handle this.”  
  
That wasn't an option. The tone his voice, the hardness it in, made that clear. “Those people are there because of me. I have to end this.”  
  
“Oliver, this guy....” She trailed off and reached for his hand. Her eyes were drilling into his as she tried anew, “This guy, he's very dangerous. He wants you to come. He's ready for you.”  
  
He wouldn't let her shake his resolve, the softness in her blue eyes would not affect him. This was what he had come back to do, come back to be, and he was prepared to do it. It was part of his mission. Also, he knew that he had nothing to worry about. “Felicity, there wasn't anything on the island that wasn't twice as dangerous as this pretender, and I survived there for five years. I have to go.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “Cover for me, I'll be right back.” Gently, he moved her out of the way.  
  
She didn't fight against it. “I'll get my phone. If anything happens, I programmed the coms so that you just have to push one button to call me.”  
  
His mind was already on the upcoming fight, but he took the time to nod to signal her that he had understood, knowing perfectly that he wouldn't need the emergency channel anyway. “Don't worry,” he assured her. “I got this.”  
  
____________________________________  
  
  
She had seen him just before the screen had gone black. His distinctive hooded silhouette had appeared behind the crying woman. He had freed the woman and the other hostages, then the blackness had taken over. Felicity sat in Moira's office and stared at the screen where Bethany Snow was saying something about the vigilante taking up the challenge.  
  
Felicity disliked Starling City's most famous anchorwoman with a fiery passion that spiked every time Felicity saw her image. Bethany Snow had been one of the first to enter the bash-Felicity rodeo while also dragging Felicity’s mother through the mud, a single mother who did all she could to protect her daughter. Normally, Felicity had to switch channels whenever that face appeared on her TV, but she couldn't bring herself to care in this situation. Whatever the blonde anchorwoman was saying, Felicity didn't really register it.  
  
Felicity knew that she should go downstairs to follow the Queens' motto and keep up appearances. But she couldn't. She couldn't say why, but she had a bad feeling. Maybe it was the fact that the last time Oliver had hooded up, he had ended up too close to an explosion for her liking.  
  
That thought and all the implications that came with it turned her heart heavy.  
  
Flexing her fingers, she moved her eyes from the TV screen to her hand, to the ring sparkling there. Oliver had acted like it was nothing that he gave her a ring. But it was something. To her it was.  
  
Back when Moira had turned Felicity into Oliver's public wife, when she had turned a drunken mistake into real commitment, she had insisted that Felicity should wear a wedding band.  
  
Felicity had let herself be bullied into many things by Moira Queen, but she had stood firm on her “no” regarding a ring.  
  
Wearing a ring that cost as much as a year at MIT – which Felicity could only attend due to a scholarship – and that had been chosen by her calculating mother-in-law had been a line that Felicity refused to cross. Moira had been forced to accept her loss and had explained Felicity's bare ring finger away by admitting that the wedding in Vegas had indeed been rather spontaneous, but that Oliver and Felicity had chosen rings the day after the ceremony, which, of course, had been custom made. In Moira's tale Oliver had been lost at sea before they had the chance to pick up the rings and, now that Oliver was gone, it hurt Felicity too much to actually wear it. It was a really cheesy story that people had eaten up—until the abortion rumor had popped up. Things had turned sour then.  
  
Felicity had accepted Moira's lie and memorized it, in case somebody brought up a missing ring. That had seemed like a better option than adding a ring to the whole mess.  
  
Now a ring had been added.  
  
She loved it. And she hated it.  
  
Okay, she didn't hate it. It was impossible to hate something this gorgeous. But she hated the idea that it meant less than it could.  
  
Oliver and she often communicated by gestures instead of words. Showing up in a suit, getting a voice scrambler, spending lunch together, being there on time during Hanukkah, buying breakfast.... Okay, mostly it was Oliver who used gestures instead of words to tell her everything he otherwise couldn't get out.  
  
But silence wouldn't do this time.  
  
Felicity needed the ring to come with words.  
  
Because she feared that she was misinterpreting his gesture. He had said it was only a ring, just a piece of jewelry that he thought looked nice, that he had seen and thought of her.  
  
He had seen a ring and thought of her.  
  
How could that not mean something? Especially, with the current status of their relationship that everybody constantly pushed into their faces. How—  
  
The ringing of her cellphone cut into her thoughts. Instantly, her heart beat faster as she reached for the phone. Her worst fears were confirmed as she looked at the display. She hurried to answer. “Oliver?”  
  
“Felicity.”  
  
Fear gripped her heart. The weakness of his voice, the way he forced out her name, caused her to jump up from her seat. “Oliver,” she repeated, stupidly, but in her panic she couldn't think of any other word to say.  
  
“Help.”  
  
She felt like all her blood rushed to her feet, only to swoosh back up. For a heartbeat the situation threatened to overwhelm her, the panic seemed too intense, the implications of everything that one word Oliver pressed out as a strained supplication for her to come and save him seemed too huge for her to handle. But her heart beat again and with it came control, strength, and the determination she tackled every impossible situation.  
  
Pressing the cell to her ear, she was already heading toward the door when Oliver repeated, “Help,” and managed to add, “Bring Digg.”  
  
The latter surprised Felicity, but she was in do-mode and hurried down the hall. “Okay.” She had nearly reached the stairs. “You hang on, Oliver,” she ordered. “You will not weasel yourself out of explaining that ring to me! You hear me?” She waited for a second, but there was no reaction for him, not even the slightest sound. “Oliver?” she asked, but didn't get an answer. She ran the last steps to the stairs and hurried downstairs, her eyes settling on John Diggle instantly.  
  
His eyes sprung full of questions, but before he could ask her what was going on, she was already waving for him to follow her. “Come on, we have to hurry.”  
  
“What's going on?” he asked, but he was moving, catching up with her easily with his long strides. She didn't answer but simply hurried out of the mansion toward the Bentley. She reached for the handle of the driver's door. It was still locked. Diggle had the keys in hand, but made no move to unlock the damn car. “Felicity, tell me what's going on.”  
  
“I'll tell you in the car, but we have to get to Oliver fast. He's hurt.” Her voice was surprisingly strong as she said that, but there was enough urgency in it for Diggle to only hesitate the barest bit.  
  
The lights of the car flashed in the darkness accompanied by a welcoming “thunk-thunk” and Felicity hurried to get into the passenger's seat. Opening the tracer app, Felicity stared at her phone. Normally, parents used this to make sure their teenage children were really in the library studying and not secretly making out in the last row of the theatre. She had installed it to be able to trace her husband when he pulled up his hood to confront the people on his list. Both uses were a questionable form of stalking, she knew, but this right here proved that she had been right to do it, this proved that her worrying was justified.  
  
Noisily, Diggle pulled the driver's door shut. Felicity looked at him. “We have to get to the Glades. Williams and Healy.”  
  
“That's close to where the kidnapping's going on.” Seeing the look on Felicity's face, Diggle shrugged. “It's been the talk of the party after you went upstairs—until people noticed that you and Oliver were missing and then people started talking about your indecency.”  
  
“I don't care.” And, really, she didn't. “Please, just drive.” He sent her a long look and Felicity added another, “Please. Once we get there everything will make sense.”  
  
Finally, John turned the key and started the engine.  
  
The drive took too long. Felicity held on to her cellphone while she sat there, keeping the line to Oliver open, but there was nothing but silence. Finally, _finally_ , Diggle stopped the car. The police barrier was near, but they were out of sight from the uniformed men. Directed by her phone, Felicity ran as fast as her heels allowed her toward a dark alley.  
  
“Felicity!” John's warning call tried to keep her back, but that couldn't stop her. He had to be there—her phone told her he was and she had come to trust technology. Her heels clicked on the pavement, echoed from the walls of the buildings left and right. It sounded too loud in her ears, stirring up fear that she might catch the attention of the nearby police. The blue and red lights flashing in the distance were proof of that. But she couldn't bring herself to slow down, to walk more carefully, because she had no time to waste.  
  
And then she saw him. Or, rather, she saw a large, long shape on the ground. The bundle lay next to a garbage container, unmoving. Her heartbeat sped up even more and then her heart did a sudden jerk as she realized that she had been right: it was Oliver. Hurriedly, she crouched down next to him. Her right hand was shaking as she brought it to his face which was still partly covered by his hood and added a whispered “Oliver”, but he didn't react. “Oliver,” she repeated with more force, bringing her left hand to his other cheek, using both hands to turn his head to her. He only lay there with his eyes closed. Her heart felt so heavy, drumming in her chest, as she moved her fingers to his neck. There! She felt his pulse. He was unconscious, but alive. Relief flooded her, turning her heart a little bit lighter. She hadn't come too late.  
  
“You have got to be—”  
  
Felicity turned back to John who had followed her into the alley and stopped quite a few steps behind her. He stared at Oliver with disbelief in his eyes.  
  
Felicity said his name to bring his attention back to her. “John, we have to get him out of these clothes and to the hospital.”  
  
“He's that vigilante?”  
  
“He's my husband.” The sentence flew from Felicity's lips before she could stop herself.  
  
Shocked disbelief had been John's first reaction, but now he turned angry. “Son of a bitch!” he cursed.  
  
“There's no time for this,” Felicity urged and turned back to Oliver. She reached for him, but he was way too heavy for her to lift. Oliver must have anticipated that, reasoned the part of her that contemplated useless things, that was why he had told her to bring John.  
  
But John wasn't helping. “He's a criminal,” he spat instead, “and a murderer.”  
  
“But you aren't,” Felicity said, pleadingly, turning back to look at him. “You need to help me, John. Please, help me save him.”  
  
A battle was raging inside John Diggle, Felicity could see it clearly. His muscles were tense and his body strained, his face was hardening in a way she had never seen before. His mouth twisted in unhappiness as he tilted his head and then, finally, he moved and reached for Oliver.  
  
_______________________________________  
  
  
Personal experiences had caused Felicity to hate hospitals. To her they symbolized nothing but death, loss, the irrevocable destruction of dreams, of a future she had dared to start imagining.  
  
Tonight had forced her to change her mind.  
  
Entering this hospital a few hours ago had made everything better. When John had carried Oliver into the ER, Felicity had felt nothing but relief. The nurses and doctors had crowded around them nearly instantly and Oliver had gotten the medical attention he needed.  
  
Felicity had hovered close to them, hadn't dared to leave his side. Looking back now, she knew she must have annoyed the doctors, but back then all she could think was that she needed to stay close.  
  
It wasn't until Kristina suddenly popped up next to her that she was able to really focus on anything else but Oliver's bloody and unconscious form on the stretcher.  
  
Her best friend had been working the nightshift in gynecology when the news had reached her that Oliver Queen was in ER. Not even ten minutes had passed since John Diggle had parked the Bentley, with Oliver spread out on the backseat, in front of the hospital, which proved the lightning speed the rumor mill in Starling City General operated in. Kristina had gotten Felicity out of there and to a private room so that she could tell her best friend what had happened. Or, rather, so that Felicity could lie to her best friend about what had happened.  
  
A motorcycle accident had been the first thing Felicity had come up with. That thing was a death-trap after all.  
  
She just hoped that Oliver's injuries fit crashing his bike. She hated that thought as soon as it entered her mind. Normal people didn't wish for something like that!  
  
Luckily, she hadn't been able to dwell on it, because a nurse had poked her head into the room and had released the tension that had been gathering inside Felicity since a whispered “help” had hit her ears. Because as the nurse informed her: Oliver was badly injured, but his life wasn't in immediate danger. That had been the moment Felicity had regained the ability to breathe freely.  
  
He would survive. He would come out of this alive.  
  
He still looked bad. Sitting next to Oliver’s hospital bed, she watched him sleeping, took in the bruises covering his face. Seeing him like this weighed heavily on her. She should have insisted stronger, should have demanded that he let the police handle the kidnapping. This was a reminder of what it meant when he pulled up that hood and left the Foundry. And now that she had been reminded, she didn't know if she could go on like she had.  
  
Forcing herself to tear her eyes away from him, she looked down at the clipboard and the attached forms a nurse had given her. Felicity didn't know the answer to half of the questions. Allergies? No clue. Family physician? Well, Felicity really trusted Dr. Bendel. She could just put Bendel's name there and force Oliver to go see him, too. Weight? She didn't even know what Oliver weighed. How could she—  
  
Breath getting sucked in quickly and noisily cut through the utter quiet of the private hospital room. Felicity's eyes snapped to Oliver. He had awoken with a start, and the sudden movement had obviously hurt him. He was forcing air into his lunges in his panic. Felicity shot up from her seat, the clipboard falling to the floor. Her hand came to rest on his shoulder. “Relax,” she said, softly, and pushed him back onto the mattress gently. “You're safe. You're at the hospital.”  
  
Her words got through to him, she could see it in his eyes, feel in the way his muscles relaxed under her hand, hear it in the way he slowly exhaled. Lifting her hand off his shoulder, she placed it on his cheek and tried a smile that she knew was really weak. The fact that he was awake, that he was looking at her, managed to cease every last fear for his well-being that had been left. With the utter and complete relief came the emotions she had bottled up until now, causing them to boil up to the surface.  
  
“What happened?” he asked in a hoarse voice.  
  
“I traced you—with John. He helped me clean you up and bring you here.” Felicity swallowed, trying to force the emotions that were locked in her throat down. “He disappeared as soon as the doctors took over.”  
  
Oliver nodded.  
  
Felicity's fingers were ice cold against his cheek. It was another sign of the freezing shock that had kept her going in the last hour or two. “You've got a pneumothorax, three broken ribs, and a concussion,” she was choking up more with each word she spoke, “but the doctor said you're going to be fine.” Tears spilled out of her eyes as the last word left her lips. It left him uncomfortable, she knew, but she couldn't help it. “I was so worried about you. Don't ever do that again.”  
  
She looked at the man she knew was nothing but trouble, but he was _her_ nothing but trouble man.  
  
That thought was like a go-signal. Not really processing it, just acting on instinct, knowing that this time she had so much to tell him without using actual words, she touched her mouth to his. Soft and warm their lips connected, meeting in a kiss that could only be described as soft. And sweet. But it sent a spark through Felicity's body that caused her to close her eyes. She felt his hand move up, to her neck, before it tangled in her hair. And with that the spark lit a fire that had been smoldering inside her for weeks now. Knowing that she would get burned if she continued, she broke contact, brought just the barest space between their lips, and opened her eyes. He stared up at her and she dug her brain for something to say.  
  
Suddenly a loud bang ripped through the room. As if caught doing something illegal, Felicity let go of Oliver and practically jumped back in time to see Thea fly into the room. Felicity watched Thea throw herself at her brother, hugging him with such vigor that he winced in pain.  
  
Felicity's heart was beating heavily in her chest, her heart-rate quickened by one little kiss, as she reached for Thea's shoulder. “Careful, his ribs are broken.”  
  
“God,” Thea whispered, “you look horrible.”  
  
Oliver looked at her. Moira, who had carefully closed the door, moved to the other side of the bed. “Thank God you were wearing a helmet.”  
  
Realizing that she hadn't filled Oliver in with her cover story, Felicity hurried to say, “I told them how you were on your bike and a truck pulled in right in front of you.”  
  
“What were you even doing out?” Moira demanded to know.  
  
“It's my fault,” Thea said, “I—”  
  
“No.” “No.”  
  
Oliver and Felicity had spoken up simultaneously. Because having Thea – who had the worst way to deal with any kind of emotion – think that this was her fault was a disaster in the making.  
  
Felicity caught herself. “It's not your fault,” she stressed.  
  
“It really isn't,” Oliver rasped out. “I'm sorry I just bailed on your party. You were right, I came with the wrong attitude.”  
  
“He's the Grinch.” Felicity said without really thinking about it. When she realized what had left her lips, she flinched. “Not that he's green... or furry. Just scruffy, because of the beard. Which I'm not really complaining about.” Damn it! “He just doesn't like Christmas.”  
  
Oliver's eyes met hers, and she hated that she saw some kind of amusement in them. “I will un-Grinch myself before Christmas Day,” he promised in a weak voice.  
  
“I think you'll have enough to do with healing,” Moira said and all Felicity could do was nod. Because, really, this could have easily gone wrong. It still might: who knew where John Diggle had disappeared to.


	18. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your responses to the previous chapter reduced me to grinning dork. I am so, so happy that you liked it so much. Thank you for letting me know. Reading your reactions was perfect and I cannot thank you enough for sending so much love my way.
> 
> Or… Wait! Maybe I can. Because my wonderful friend, story-advisor, and voice of reason **Albiona** made the very legitimate point that this chapter was worth two—with a perfect moment to take a break. She’s absolutely right. But feel like leaving the year 2012 behind (it’s so three years ago, really) and putting it all out there. Bam! That’s what you get for being awesome.
> 
> I don’t feel like saying much about this chapter (she wrote after going on for about 100 words), but I know that some of you sometimes enjoy a glass of wine or ice cream while reading my fic (which is _amazing!_ )—I feel like this is the perfect chapter for either of these things. ;-)
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this! All my love and gratitude, Jules.

**December 27 th 2012**  
  
The Hood had taken time off over the holidays.  
  
That was the official explanation made up by the press for Starling City's vigilante being MIA.  
  
It was both: completely true and completely false.  
  
Oliver hadn't hooded up since Felicity and Diggle had changed him out of his leather and into the back-up Armani suit he had come to keep in the Bentley. Oliver hadn't even been to the Foundry since that day.  
  
He had been allowed to leave the hospital two days after his supposed accident. His bruised ribs made it difficult to breathe if he carried anything heavy—like the leather-bound compilation of Shakespeare's works Felicity and he had given Walter as a Christmas gift, which wasn't _that_ heavy. He was in no shape to fight or even train.  
  
The time off, the holiday vacation, wasn't voluntary. But he didn't mind it. In fact, he was kind of glad that he had an excuse to ignore everything that had occupied so much of his time and energy in the last months.  
  
Because it also meant ignoring the fact that he had been bested, that he had nearly been killed.  
  
For the first time in five years he had feared death.  
  
And Felicity had kissed him.  
  
Any of those things was a perfect reason for Oliver to brood and hide until he had accepted that he needed to bring some space between Felicity and himself.  
  
He knew that was the smart thing to do, the right thing to do. He couldn't continue with his mission and stay close to her, because she shook his resolve, she made him weak.  
  
But she had kissed him, for just a few seconds, and it had made him want to be weak for her.  
  
Seeing her relief that he was all right, feeling her gentle touch and her soft lips, realizing how much she cared, how much he cared, had caused him to see what he wanted more than anything—and it had have nothing to do with his list.  
  
That was a problem.  
  
One he chose to ignore.  
  
He chose to simply be Oliver Queen for now: a guy who spent Christmas Day with his family, a guy who got a ridiculously expensive watch from his mother, a watch, he knew he would never wear, because he wasn't a watch-guy.  
  
He chose to be a guy who listened to his wife when she told him he needed to recover.  
  
That first night in the hospital, he had told Felicity that he would take the other archer down. It had been a promise made in anger. Now, ten days later, Oliver was still angry, but he had also come to accept that he had underestimated his opponent. It had been years since he had been bested like that in a fight. He had barely made it out of the warehouse alive and with his identity hidden.  
  
The thought of this ruthless man, who had gone as far as taking hostages to lure The Hood out, finding out he was fighting Oliver Queen had been the jolt of adrenaline needed to get Oliver back to his feet and out of there. The horror of this man going after his family next, after the people he cared about, had been enough to make him gather the last reserves he had had.  
  
The thought that next time he might not make it, leave his loved-ones behind and defenseless, held so much horror that Oliver wanted to hide in his apartment forever.  
  
He couldn't, of course. He wouldn't, of course. But he would take this vacation that was neither voluntary nor unwanted. And he would take any kind of distraction from his depressing thoughts. Like Tommy Merlyn, who was now stepping out of the elevator.  
  
“Buddy!” His best friend greeted him with a hug.  
  
Letting go, Oliver motioned for his best friend to enter the apartment. “How was Christmas?”  
  
“Fine.” It was such a vague answer that Oliver raised a questioning eyebrow at the other man who sighed. “Christmas isn't the Lances' favorite holiday. It's always a very difficult time for them. Not much Christmas cheer.”  
  
Oliver could imagine. His own family had skipped Christmas in the previous years, too. This year had been the first the Christmas spirit had returned to the Queen mansion, and Oliver knew that it had returned because of him. But the Lances had lost a family member, too, one who hadn't surprisingly come back from the dead. “I'm sorry,” Oliver offered, not knowing what else to say.  
  
Tommy accepted the compassion with a nod and together the men entered the main room. “Is Felicity not here?”  
  
His childhood friend was trying to sound neutral, but Oliver knew him well enough to hear the dim traces of relief. “No, she's at work.”  
  
“Seriously?” Tommy frowned. “It's that time of the year when nobody's working. Apart from the people in retail. They are faced with uncounted ugly sweaters, socks, and bras bought in the wrong size right about now.”  
  
“Well, working when barely anybody else does is one of the sacrifices you'll have to make when you're starting your own business. Are you ready for that?”  
  
“More than ready!” Tommy sank down on the couch.  
  
“I've made coffee,” Oliver said. “Want some?”  
  
“Look at you!” Tommy smirked. “All perfect host! Are you sitting down while peeing now, too?”  
  
Ignoring his friend's teasing – especially, since he knew that his friend was talking from experience (Oliver had had the splatter talk when he had been with Laurel) – Oliver poured black coffee in two mugs and walked over to the couch. Thinking of Laurel reminded him. “I met your father at a party.” He held one mug out to Tommy, who took it. “He didn't seem too happy with you.”  
  
“When has he ever been?”  
  
Legitimate question—and a rhetorical one, so Oliver decided against answering it. “He thinks the club’s a bad idea?”  
  
“You could say that. He cut me off until I join the family business.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Seeing the look of disbelief on his friend's face, Tommy nodded. “Yeah. I'm broke and living off my successful lawyer fiancée. I’m thinking about becoming a trophy husband. I think I have the looks for it.”  
  
Oliver knew that his friend's cheer was forced and fake. He tried the barest smile. “Apparently, so do I. Your father practically called me a trophy husband when I met him.”  
  
Setting his mug down on the coffee table, Tommy sighed. “I'm over caring about what he thinks. The problem is... I don't have the money for my share of the club anymore. I know it was my idea, but....”  
  
“It's okay.” Oliver said without hesitation. “I'm all in.”  
  
“Okay,” Tommy said, raising his hands. “As a newly poor person I have to tell you that—”  
  
“I had no money for five years,” Oliver interrupted him. “Money doesn't matter. I want to invest in your club. I feel like I can't offer much else anyway.”  
  
For a second the men just looked at each other, then a wide grin spread over Tommy's face. “Then let's do this!”  
  
“Yes, let's. We have all the documents; we can start remodeling.”  
  
“Yeah, it's all planned. We can start right away.” Oliver could practically see an idea coming to Tommy. “Do you know what we should do? Start the hype! We need to get people excited for about what's to come. What to expect from us! We should throw a New Year's party.”  
  
“New Year's Eve’s in four days.”  
  
“I threw your welcome-bash together in less time. I'll organize everything. You just have to come, look amazing, give it the Oliver-Queen-approval and... oh, yeah, pay.”  
  
“Oh?” Oliver looked at his friend, dimly amused. “That's all?” Hesitating, he shook his head. “I don't know. I promised Felicity we'd celebrate New Year's with her best friend.”  
  
“Then bring her.” Seeing the unsureness on his friend's face, Tommy hurried to add. “Ollie, man, it's the start of our business. We need to get people hyped for the opening. We need to combine our names and party power, make up for the fact that neither of us is available to party with.”  
  
Even though that might make sense to Oliver, he wasn't a big fan. “The idea of Felicity and Laurel in one room....” Oliver left the thought hanging and didn't add that including Kristina in this picture made it look even more gruesome.  
  
“We need to bring them together at some point. I'm sure they can play nice for our sakes.”  
  
“You know that's a lot to ask of Felicity when it was you and Laurel bad-mouthing her all over town after I went missing.”  
  
From one second to the next Tommy froze in his seat, turning uncharacteristically still. Slowly his hand moved up to his forehead, running his fingers over his skin forcefully until he dared to look at Oliver. Utter shock had caused Tommy to pale, his voice was only a whisper when he asked, “You know that I started the abortion rumor?”  
  
“Abo—” Oliver couldn’t even finish the word, he tried another one, “You….” He couldn’t finish one thought, he couldn’t process, he didn’t understand. He blinked. “I…” Confused, Oliver stared at his friend, “What?!”  
  
“You didn't know?” Tommy twisted in his seat, suffering under the hot stare Oliver nailed him with after hearing that question. “When you— But you just said that…. I was sure Felicity had told you.”  
  
She hadn't, not one word. But now her utter dislike of Tommy made complete sense. Suddenly Oliver could relate perfectly. “Why would you do that?”  
  
“I—” Tommy searched for words until he threw his hands up. “I told you, Laurel was in bad shape after you disappeared. She drank— _a lot_. And I'm saying that as somebody who drank a lot back then, too. She was a mess and—it was my fault. Your drunk marriage was my idea. I felt guilty. I told you: directing her anger at Felicity seemed like a good solution back then. And I never believed Felicity was pregnant anyway. She was barely showing and she was supposed to be six months along! The only pregnant women I know are from TV—and they always have big bellies. I thought all of it was made up, by her, by your mother. I mean, I knew your mother lied about everything else. So, I just came up with my own lie.”  
  
“You put her through hell!” Oliver's voice was louder than he would have liked.  
  
“I know.”  
  
“No!” Oliver countered. “I don't think you do!” Anger drove him off the couch, forced him to flex his muscles and bring some space between himself and the man he suddenly didn't recognize anymore. Stiffly, he walked toward the kitchen counter.  
  
“I'm really sorry,” Tommy offered.  
  
Oliver shot back around and saw that the Merlyn heir had gotten up, too. The couch stood between them and Oliver appreciated the barrier. “It was that rumor that made people hate her,” Oliver said. “I saw some of the shit people wrote about her, in the magazines, in the blogs, the comment sections. And you're telling me you're responsible?!  
  
That was a lot to be responsible for, Oliver thought. After their first shared dinner, after Felicity had told him that people believed her to be a cold-hearted bitch, Oliver gone online to check. And simply typing her name into the Google search bar had been enough to show him how much lurked behind her simple statement—it was a lot, an insane amount of hate thrown her way. People hiding behind obscure aliases had called her a killer, a gold-digger, and a whore. Strangers had judged her from afar, had dissected every little detail about what they believed her to be and what they could see. Everything was fair game: the brunette hair ( _mousy!_ ), the glasses ( _geek!_ ), the baby weight she didn’t shed fast enough ( _bitch, please! You can afford a personal trainer!_ ). Her figure had been a big issue and source of many spiteful comments ( _big ass, fat legs, porky face, flat chest!_ ).  
  
People had been cruel—and very, very wrong. Oliver had sat in front of his laptop and he hadn’t understood. How could people not see how beautiful she was, how beautiful she had always been?  
  
Oliver knew Felicity’s reaction to all of that. He witnessed it every morning when she got on that treadmill, every time she chose salad over pizza to match her constant diet, to keep control by counting calories.  
  
Oliver couldn’t help but think that what she had experienced was worse than his time away. Because every scar marking his body came with a face. Every time somebody had cut, burned, stabbed, or shot him that person had the decency to look him in the eyes. Those people who had hurt Felicity and had left invisible marks didn’t have the bravery to face her, they hid behind the anonymity provided by the internet. They had hurt Felicity’s soul—that was harder to recover from than from being shot with an arrow.  
  
And his best friend had started it. Ultimately, Tommy Merlyn was to blame. Oliver couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to believe it. He stared at his best friend.  
  
Tommy looked a little helpless. “I was a different person back then. I mean, we all were. We were messed up, all of us.”  
  
Anger had its tight grip on Oliver. He clenched his hands into fists but forced himself not to yell his next words. “She's still mourning the death of that baby, Tommy. She loved him, she wanted to have that baby and you twisted her loss into something—” He couldn't think of a word. He pressed his lips together shortly, before he concluded, “Things were awful for her and you, YOU, made it worse.”  
  
Silence followed.  
  
Finally, Tommy nodded. “That's true. I did. But I didn't care back then.”  
  
Tommy admitting that didn't help to calm Oliver down _at all_. But before he could say anything the other man continued talking, “All I cared about was making it better for Laurel. She was self-destructing. And I thought that would be what you'd want. I thought I was honoring your memory, helping the woman you loved, righting your wrong.”  
  
The last sentence strung a chord within Oliver. Of course. Fuck Tommy for using that expression.  
  
Sighing, Tommy said, “Would I do it again with everything I know now?” He shook his head and met Oliver's eyes when he said, forcefully, “No! But no matter how much I wished I hadn't done it, I did and I am sorry. That's all I have: I'm sorry. I have nothing good to say that could make it up to you. To her.”  
  
Oliver looked at the man who had always, _always_ , been his best friend. The man who had practically lived with him for years, because his own father had disappeared, only to turn out to be the worst human being imaginable when he’d returned. Tommy was the man who had flown to Hong Kong at the slightest provocation in hopes of finding Oliver still alive. He had only been a rich kid in rich boy clothes with a judgmental father on his back, but he had travelled half-way around the world to search for him.  
  
Tommy had made mistakes, but who was Oliver to judge him? How big of a hypocrite would Oliver be if he did?  
  
All of this could only lead to one conclusion: Oliver couldn't hold this against Tommy.  
  
But, ultimately, this wasn't really about him anyway.  
  
“I want you to apologize to Felicity,” Oliver said. “I want you to tell her that you're sorry. She needs to forgive you, not me. Ask her if she wants to come to the New Year’s party. If she agrees, we're there and you and I are in business.”  
  
Tommy stared at him and Oliver knew that his friend really hated this idea, but finally he nodded. “Fair enough. Let's do this right now.”  
  
__________________________________  
  
  
“Felicity, are there any men in your life who aren't totally gorgeous?”  
  
Without even knowing what Tak was talking about, there only was one logical answer to this. “Only you.”  
  
Smirking, Felicity took her eyes off the pad she had been studying freshly written code on and placed them on her lead programmer on the other side of her desk. And, instantaneously, she understood what Yongtak had been talking about. Now that she had taken her eyes off the display, she noticed Oliver standing in her office door. He was a well-known sight by now and even Tak had stopped getting flustered, but the man standing next to him was completely unexpected.  
  
Tommy Merlyn had entered Firestorm.  
  
“You suck!” Yongtak told Felicity. “We both know I'm adorable.” He smiled at Tommy. “Hi, I'm Yongtak.”  
  
“Hey, I'm Tommy—and I agree.” His signature smirk in place, he added, entering the room, “I'm totally gorgeous.”  
  
“I like him.” Tak decided, but then his head snapped back to Felicity. Recognition appeared in his eyes. “No! I forgot! We don't.” Shaking his head, he turned back to Tommy. “I don't like you. You're on our shit-list for being an asshole.”  
  
“I'm here to apologize and invite you to the hottest New Year’s party in town.” Tommy's eyes settled on Felicity. “I owe you a big apology—and I know it's probably not enough to do this now, but I really am sorry about everything. About how I acted toward you. What I said about you was wrong and mean and a mistake.”  
  
Felicity stared at him, digging her brain for something to say.  
  
“Full disclosure,” Tommy continued. “Oliver made me come here and apologize, because I want both of you to celebrate New Year’s with Laurel and me at a party we're throwing together to get people hyped for the club. And 'we' means: I'm organizing and Oliver's paying.”  
  
Felicity's eyes travelled to Oliver who still stood by the door, an immobile statue.  
  
“But,” Tommy was still talking and Felicity placed her attention back on him, “I am NOT apologizing because I want you to come – and to pay, obviously. I'm doing it, because I really mean it. Oliver's right, I owe you an apology. And I am sorry. It’s true: I was an asshole.”  
  
Silence sank over the people in the room while Felicity was still trying to catch up with what was going. She didn't know what to think, how to feel about this. Because in all honesty she felt like an apology really wasn't enough. But at the same time: what else could he offer her but an apology? There was nothing else he could give but words. Her eyes travelled back to Oliver.  
  
Tommy Merlyn was facing the same dilemma as Oliver Queen who was confronted with the consequences of his own past actions over and over again, without being able to make up for them, ever.  
  
There was Detective Lance who blamed Oliver for the death of his daughter. Laurel Lance who blamed Oliver for the same thing and added the fact that he had... cheated on her, plus some extras. There was Thea, who blamed Oliver for not being the person she wanted him to be or even the one she remembered.  
  
Felicity had often longed for any of these people to accept just one of Oliver's apologies, to take some of the weight pulling him down off his shoulders.  
  
Not one of them had.  
  
As much as Felicity wanted to tell Tommy to go shove it, she couldn't.  
  
Instead, she reached for the part of his apology that didn’t make any sense to her. “Why's Oliver paying?”  
  
“Because my father cut me off. I'm broke.”  
  
“What?” Felicity frowned before realization set in. “Is it because you're marrying Oliver's sloppy seconds?”  
  
The look crossing Tommy's face made it absolutely clear that it wasn't because of _that_.  
  
“Those aren't my words,” Felicity rushed out. “Your father said that. At the dinner thing.” She shut up right there before she made things worse. She hated that she felt guilty for letting Malcolm Merlyn's insult slip when Tommy had said worse things about her without quoting anybody.  
  
“I thought he liked Laurel....” Tommy mumbled, but then he straightened up. “Whatever. He doesn't matter. What matters is that you come to the party. Bring your best friend.” Tommy gestured to Yongtak. “Bring your friend with the great taste in men. Bring whoever.”  
  
All the men in the room looked at her and all Felicity could do was sink back in her seat. “Fine.”  
  
“No.” Surprised, Felicity looked at Yongtak who had objected so forcefully. Her Number One looked at her. “Don't you dare forgive him, Fe. Not like that! One 'I'm an asshole' and one hot party isn't making up for anything that happened.” He turned to Tommy. “You might be gorgeous, but that was a half-assed apology.”  
  
“I agree.” It was the first thing Oliver said. He finally stepped into the room. “Tak, could you give us a moment?”  
  
“Sure.” Yongtak sent Felicity one long look before slipping past the other men.  
  
Oliver closed the door behind him and gestured to the chairs. “Let's sit down.”  
  
This was so uncomfortable. Felicity hated this—nearly as much as Tommy Merlyn did by the look on his face.  
  
She needed to put a stop to it. “Oliver, that's not—“  
  
“Oh, yes,” he cut in, “it is.” When she made no move to get up and come around the barrier that was her desk, Oliver took a step toward her. “Did you know that Tommy came up with the abortion rumor?”  
  
A cold sensation rushed through Felicity as realization hit her. She had wondered what this was about, what had triggered Oliver to force Tommy to come here. Never would this reason have occurred to her. It left her feeling slightly helpless and also strangely caught, because, “Yes. I knew.” She saw the question on Oliver's face and added, “My main clue was when I heard people say, 'she had an abortion. Tommy Merlyn said so and if anybody knows, it's him'.”  
  
“Why didn't you tell me?”  
  
Hints of hurt were audible in Oliver's voice as the question left his lips. It was the reason why she felt like a deer in headlights, but at the same time she refused to feel guilty about not telling him. “He's your best friend.”  
  
“You're my wife.”  
  
He said it like it was true, like it was more than an empty label put on her by a signed contract, like it meant something to him. He made it sound wonderful. Felicity's heart skipped a beat in her chest before it continued tapping a little quicker.  
  
At the same time she was very aware of Tommy Merlyn's presence and couldn't help but wonder if maybe Oliver's statement had been meant more for him than for her. Not knowing what to say to that, in fear that her mouth (and heart) would once again move without involving her brain (as it had with that kiss), she stayed silent.  
  
“This is not about me,” Oliver said with emphasis. “I know you only said that it's fine for my sake. Don't. I told Tommy that we'd only celebrate New Year’s with him if you're comfortable with it. If _you_ want to. And I mean that.”  
  
Suddenly, staying silent wasn’t a deliberate choice. The silence was forced upon her, because she had no words. She was muted by what she was hearing while her heart danced in her chest. He was taking her side. He was putting her and what she wanted first. She couldn't remember that happening. With anyone. Ever. Certainly not in the past five years, but now that she thought about it, no pre-Vegas moments came to mind where anybody had ever said: Felicity, how do you feel about it? Is that really okay with you?  
  
Slowly, she nodded and finally got out of her seat. Together the three adults walked to the sitting area. Tommy and Felicity chose the seats opposite each other. Oliver sat down between them, but stretched his arm out to take her hand which was resting in her lap.  
  
“I have nothing good to say, Felicity,” Tommy admitted then. “Because, what could I say to make it up to you?”  
  
That was surprisingly honest, Felicity thought.  
  
“I don't want to give you any excuses, or reasons why I did it – and they all made sense to me back then – because they don't matter to you and they’ve stopped making much sense by now.” He sighed. Leaning forward in his chair, placing his forearms on his knees, bringing his hands together, he looked at her hauntingly. “But know this: I am truly sorry. Since the day Ollie got legally resurrected, since I sat in that courtroom, I’ve felt terrible for what I did, for the rumor I spread. I admit that if it wasn't for Ollie forcing me I wouldn't have the guts to do this, but that doesn't change the fact that I mean it. I am sorry.”  
  
Felicity needed a moment. Sitting there, she looked down and set his words sink in. When they did, she realized how tightly she was holding Oliver's hand. She loosened her grip and met Tommy's gaze. “That was a very good apology.”  
  
“Thank you. I strive to excel at everything I do.”  
  
Ignoring the typical Tommy-Merlyn-sentence, Felicity glanced at Oliver. She knew that he had handed the decision to her completely. She knew that he was serious about it, because she had come to know Oliver as a man who lived up to his words.  
  
But even before Tommy had said the first word she had known that she would accept his apology, because even though Oliver believed this to be about her, it was about him not losing his best friend, too. He had lost so much; how could she add one more loss? The fact that Tommy's apology had been good made it easier for her to take her eyes off Oliver and put them on his best friend. “What time do you want us to come to your party?”  
  
  
  
**December 29 th 2012**  
  
Oliver had pushed this back longer than was smart. But with everything that occupied his mind, he had needed some time to find the right angle for this conversation.  
  
Felicity had chided him when he had told her. She said that, if he planned to work an angle, he might as well not talk to John Diggle at all.  
  
But that was exactly what he planned to do. With quick and sure steps, he entered the well-known Big Belly Burger and slid into the bench opposite John Diggle. Oliver sent the other man, who looked visibly stunned by the sudden company, a not entirely believable smile. “Hello.”  
  
John Diggle, who had sat bent over reading a newspaper that laid spread out on the table, leaned back. “What are you doing here?” he demanded to know.  
  
“I couldn't help but notice the distinctive lack of policemen trying to arrest me,” Oliver answered, calmly. A short gap in conversation followed before Oliver added, “I had the feeling that you wouldn't drop the dime on me.”  
  
“If you don't keep your distance I might change my mind about that.”  
  
The threat bounced off Oliver without really registering. “I want you to join me.”  
  
“Join you? Your crusade?”  
  
“I'm righting wrongs committed by my family.”  
  
“You've got to be kidding me!”  
  
Oliver placed his hands flat on the tabletop. “Special Forces straight out of Kandahar.” He let the information hang in the air for a moment, showing the other man that he had done his homework and knew about a mission that was supposed to be top-secret. When he saw understanding on Diggle's face, Oliver added, “It's perfect, you're a fellow soldier.”  
  
“You're not a soldier,” Diggle spat. “You're a criminal. A murderer. You're a danger to everybody in this city. You're a danger to everybody in your life, especially your wife.”  
  
“And there's no one there to keep her safe. She refuses to be accompanied by a bodyguard that's not you.”  
  
The look that crossed Diggle's face made it clear that he wasn't amused by Oliver's statement. Not in the slightest. Damn it, the soldier-angle had been the best thing Oliver had come up with.  
  
Oliver sank back, rested his back against the cheap red leather. “It's the bruises,” he said quietly. “You think I hurt Felicity on purpose. But I didn't. And I'm ashamed of what happened.”  
  
There wasn't any need to deny it, to try to tell Diggle that he had been seeing things, that the bruises along her neck were a result of Felicity running against a door frame or whatever other clichéd lie women made up who were hurt by their men. It was a truth he couldn't talk away: Oliver had bruised Felicity the first night he had been back in Starling City. But that would never happen again.  
  
A challenge shining in his eyes, the former soldier looked at him. “What did happen?”  
  
Meeting his eyes, taking up the challenge, Oliver said, “I had a nightmare. Felicity tried to wake me up. I thought she was a threat, I...” he hesitated, because all the phrases that came to his mind to continue the sentence – like overpowered her or took her out – sounded really bad. So he settled for, “...reacted.”  
  
“If that's your reaction to somebody waking you, I don't want to know what you do to the guys you confront on your night job.” John Diggle scooted out of the bench. “I know you care about her, Queen. I saw you when you didn't know where she was. And that's why you should stay away from her. You're gonna get her hurt, or worse.”  
  
“I can protect her. _We_ can protect her.”  
  
Diggle shook his head. “You got her involved in some pretty dangerous stuff and that can only end badly.”  
  
“You don't know what we're involved in. What she involved herself in,” Oliver countered.  
  
“You're right. I don't. And I don't want to.” With that Diggle turned around and with one last nod to Carly, who stood behind the counter, left the restaurant.  
  
  
  
**December 31 th 2012**  
  
The red carpet made her best friend squeal.  
  
The sight of it only caused Felicity to question what she was doing here.  
  
Felicity had planned on a quiet New Year’s Eve with her best friend, Kristina's salsa-dropping boyfriend, her own paper-husband, and too much red wine in the privacy of her own home. Instead, she had to dress up and drive to the local planetarium – Felicity didn't even want to know how much Oliver was paying to rent this place for the night – to walk a red carpet, play nice with Laurel Lance, and hold on to alcohol-filled glasses (without actually drinking) to keep up appearances and her wits to herself.  
  
By now Felicity knew that she had agreed to more than going to a party; she had given Oliver the okay to invest in Tommy Merlyn and the club he wanted to open above the Foundry. Oliver had told her so the evening of the apology, claiming he wanted her to make her decision without knowing about that, because he didn't want to sway her. If only he knew that it might have swayed her to declining, because she didn't especially like the club idea. Oliver already had enough on his plate. Adding booze, dancing people, the constant presence of his best friend, and a lot of attention to the building above the place he kept his arrows seemed like a not-so-good idea.  
  
But who was she even kidding? She never would have said no to the friendship between Oliver and Tommy. Because friendship was precious.  
  
“I never walked a red carpet,” Kristina gushed and brought Felicity's attention back to her. The brunette frowned and placed her attention on her best friend. “How is that possible? You never took me to a red carpet event before!”  
  
In Felicity's opinion, there was only one reaction to that. “I know. And you're welcome.”  
  
“You're too negative,” Kristina chided. “This will be awesome. We'll celebrate into the New Year with everything we have. Hon, we'll make the best out of this!”  
  
With that final announcement the Bentley stopped. It was driven by somebody whose name Felicity didn't know and didn't want to know, because it wasn't John Diggle. The nameless driver in the impeccable blue uniform walked around the car. “We'll get out first,” Oliver told Demarion, Kristina's boyfriend, who looked as excited as his girlfriend, but was less vocal about it. “Then we'll turn around and offer the girls a hand.”  
  
“No problem.” Demarion grinned. “We got this. Tina practiced getting out of a car all morning.”  
  
Of course she had. Felicity looked at the other female blankly.  
  
“What?” Kristina defended. “It's better to prepare than to flash everybody.”  
  
Objectively, you couldn't object to that.  
  
The door was opened and Oliver stepped onto the red carpet first, closed a button of the perfectly tailored black jacket he wore over a white shirt, and held his hand out to Felicity, who had some practice with getting out of cars without any indecencies. What happened next, it reminded Felicity very much of her first outing with Oliver at the homecoming-party: the flashlights, the yelling, the noise. She was glad when they finally entered the planetarium.  
  
It was a great venue to party, Felicity had to admit that. The huge room with the high glass ceiling onto which the Milky Way was projected was simply breathtaking. Fittingly, Tommy had kept the lights low so that the beauty of it could be appreciated. There were three bars spread out strategically across the room, a huge dance floor, and a DJ stand flanked by two huge water tanks in which girls in white flow-y dresses were swimming and every once in a while diving—it was a Tommy Merlyn party, after all.  
  
The mastermind waved them across the room from what had to be the slightly elevated VIP-section. Great. Everybody had the perfect view at them if they sat down on the white seats. Just what Felicity liked.  
  
“Let's say hi,” Oliver said and placed his hand on her lower back.  
  
Kristina and Demarion followed them. The already dancing crowd in the packed room stepped out of the way so that they could pass easily. Once they reached the VIP-area, Tommy and Oliver hugged in greeting. Felicity and Laurel spared each other a glance and a nod that didn't technically qualify as a greeting but had to do. “Tommy, Laurel,” Oliver introduced now. “Kristina and Demarion.”  
  
The look Kristina Miles sent Laurel Lance was awesome, in Felicity Queen's opinion.  
  
Tommy handed out champagne and they clicked glasses “to a memorable night” as Tommy suggested. Kristina had just taken a huge swig when a new song started to play. “Oooh,” Kristina gushed. “That's ma jam!” How her best friend could despise Rihanna, but call Carly Ray Jepsen's 'Call Me Maybe' her jam was way beyond Felicity. But she didn't object when her best friend reached for her hand and pulled her off that stupid pedestal and onto the dance floor. Everything was better than being in that VIP-section with some very dislikable people.  
  
“Okay,” Kristina asked, once they had reached the dance floor. “What's up with you and hubby?” Her lips were close to Felicity's ear to make sure she could be heard over the music without anybody overhearing. “He's very stiff. And not the fun kind of stiff, but the tense kind of stiff that makes him keep his distance. I really thought that the kiss you told me about would have finally loosened him up. And you! You're just as tense.”  
  
That was true. All of it.  
  
They were both tense.  
  
Because of the kiss.  
  
A kiss that had happened and never been mentioned again.  
  
Or repeated, for that matter.  
  
That situation had not been good since then. It had gotten even less good two days ago when Oliver had gone to talk to John. After that, Oliver had kept his distance which had made discussing – or repeating – the kiss even more impossible. She didn't know what had happened exactly because Oliver wouldn't talk about his conversation with John, which frustrated Felicity.  
  
So, yeah, things were not good, only... tense.  
  
Felicity brought her own lips to her friend's ear. “The kiss complicated things.” It was the easiest explanation.  
  
It caused Kristina to actually roll her eyes before she leaned in to Felicity. “You're so annoying! And overly complicated when it's so simple. What you two need to do is kiss again, finally release all of that sexual tension that’s clogging your ability to think rationally, and start accepting that you like being married to your hubby. You need to get laid first thing in 2013 by that hunk that bought you a gorgeous and ridiculously expensive ring you haven't taken off since he put it on your finger.”  
  
“I put it on my finger.”  
  
“You need to put your fingers to good use. Or, even better, put _his_ fingers to good use.”  
  
“What are you girls talking about?” Suddenly Yongtak Chan appeared next to them.  
  
“Sex,” was Kristina's simple and slightly too loud answer.  
  
“Oh, I came just in time.”  
  
In that moment Flo Rida's ‘Whistle’ boomed out of the speakers, causing Felicity to yell over the whistling. “What's this DJ's playlist? The worst songs of 2012, so that we're happy this year is over?”  
  
“She's switching topics,” Kristina observed loudly, waving at the VIP-area for her boyfriend to join them. “But I love you, so I let you. But, please, promise to think about what I said.”  
  
How could she not? Those ideas were really hard to get out of her head.  
  
They were still there thirty minutes later when Felicity decided that she couldn't continue avoiding the VIPs. She couldn't let Oliver, who had been banned from dancing due to his healing ribs, sit there any longer with only Tommy and Laurel for company. Felicity was a Queen and she had to keep up appearances.  
  
It was the right thing to do. She knew that as soon as she stepped onto the platform and met Oliver's eyes. The thankful expression she found there was accompanied by the barest smile. He could do better. She knew. She had seen him smile a real smile that made her heart jump in her chest, but he reserved them for private moments they shared at home or at the Foundry. Felicity Queen was the last person who had a right to complain about lacking smiles; she didn't smile much in public either.  
  
But she sent Oliver a knowing glance before she sat down next to him on the white sofa. It was huge in that trendy way that you couldn't really sit on, because if you rested your back against the backrest, your legs would leave the floor and stick out and it would not only look stupid but also be uncomfortable. Felicity chose the option of sitting on the edge of the seat and crossing her legs.  
  
“Hey,” Oliver, who had longer legs and made this stupid seat work by casually lounging on it, greeted. Sitting up and stopping the lounging, he moved to her and brought his hand to her waist, tugging her a little into his body. That signaled to Felicity that things really weren't going well in the VIP-section.  
  
“How're things on the dance floor?” Oliver asked.  
  
“Crowded.” Felicity answered over the music. It was a little bit quieter back here, but only a little bit. “The DJ's taste is questionable, but he makes Tina happy.”  
  
“Yes,” Oliver nodded. “No Rihanna until now.”  
  
Now Felicity couldn't keep a small smile from showing itself. “Exactly.”  
  
“I heard about your company. I'm so sorry.” Laurel's loud voice suddenly entered their conversation.  
  
Felicity placed her attention on the other woman and gave herself a second to make sure her answer was adequately casual. If Laurel Lance could play nice, so could Felicity Queen. “Thank you. Luckily, the most important data wasn't lost.”  
  
“That's not how the stock holders see it, isn't it? I heard things were pretty rough at NYSE.”  
  
Felicity hated that bitch! More than she wanted to admit. She felt Oliver's hand close around her waist and got the silent message: don't let her get to you, be the bigger person, I'm here. Bringing one of her Felicity Queen smiles to her face, she said, “That's part of business. You shouldn't play with the big boys if you can't take a little heat. It's takes more than that to rattle me.” The latter could be considered a challenge. It also was the truth. Felicity Queen had skinned... fried... done something to bigger fish than Laurel Lance.  
  
“Oh?” Laurel said, feigning interest. “Most people would consider losing a couple millions rattling, but what do I know? I'm just busy defending people who're rattled by losing fifty dollars.”  
  
“Yes,” Felicity nodded. “And I heard that pays really well.”

“So!” Tommy suddenly cut in. “2012, huh?! Aren't you glad _that's_ over?”  
  
The women stared at each other while Oliver glanced at the ridiculously flashy watch his mother had given him for Christmas. “One and a half hours and we're done.”  
  
“I heard you're planning a wedding,” Felicity stated, ignoring both men. “Congratulations. Have you already set a date?”  
  
“May 4 th,” Laurel answered. Her smile didn't reach her eyes. “And, yes, we're planning it. As tempting as a drunken mess sounds, we decided against it.”  
  
“Laurel,” Tommy tried to get his fiancée's attention, “care to dance?”  
  
She ignored him and instead said, “We're willing to invest more than $199 in our shared future.”  
  
“$229,” Felicity corrected. “We had the Lover's Package.” She turned to Oliver. “I remember telling you the basic package worth $75 was fine, though.”  
  
“That didn't include flowers,” Oliver reminded. “Or pictures. I wanted pictures.”  
  
“Yes,” Laurel said. “I saw them on TMZ. They weren't exactly flattering.”  
  
Sadly, that was true. They were absolutely horrible and not worth the extra $154. Felicity hated them with a passion. And she hated that posting them had been one of the first huge stories TMZ had ever broken. But she wouldn't give Laurel the satisfaction of agreeing with her.  
  
She didn't have to, because Laurel spoke up again, looking at Oliver. “If you hadn't snuck away from Tommy that night that whole drama could have been avoided.”  
  
Felicity blinked stupidly. Her eyes snapped to Tommy, who looked like he'd die any second now. He couldn't be serious! This was the first time since the conversation had started that Felicity was at a loss for words. Tommy had lied to his fiancée about that night. Tommy had told her that he hadn't been around—when he had not only been best man, but the one orchestrating the whole thing. Why was Felicity even surprised?  
  
“Maybe,” Oliver answered. Felicity should have known that he would play along for his best friend's sake. “But I'm very happy with how things turned out.”  
  
A warm sensation replaced the sudden annoyance that had claimed Felicity. Her eyes settled on the man she had married in a ceremony that had cost $229. He met her gaze and there, in his eyes, she could see that he meant that sentence. The warmth heated up, rising into tingles all over her body, and Felicity Queen broke her habit of not smiling in public.  
  
“Okay,” Laurel got up. “Now, I feel like dancing.”  
  
Oliver and Tommy shared a quick glance before the other couple climbed down the two steps leading to the clubbing area. Felicity ignored them and scooted a little closer to Oliver. “He lied to Laurel. That'll bite him in the ass.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I'm sorry. That was my best version of being civil with Laurel.”  
  
He looked at her, thinking for a second. “Fair enough. And I appreciate that Felicity Queen doesn't take people's shit. She's also really good at bluffing.”  
  
“She has to be.” Felicity answered, without realizing that she had referred to herself in third person. “Because the Felicity you share an apartment with is freaked out by the way Firestorm crashed and burnt at NYSE last week.” She sighed. “Let's not talk about that,” she decided. “Let's talk about nice things... like the Milky Way.” She leaned her head back to look at the ceiling. “That's really beautiful.”  
  
“It is.” Oliver agreed, looking up as well.  
  
She placed her attention back on Oliver. “What you said at Thanksgiving, about watching the stars on the island, was that true?”  
  
“It was.” Oliver's eyes stayed on the breathtaking galactic scenery spreading out over them. “In cities you don't really see the stars, but on the island, where everything was dark, you saw everything.”  
  
“That sounds amazing.”  
  
“Made me feel small, mostly.”

Felicity stared at him shortly, but then she couldn't help but chuckle. “Of course, it did.” It was typical that he'd think of it this way, and it was typical that she had overly romantic ideas about it.  
  
Oliver's eyes now left the ceiling and settled on her. “They're playing our song.”  
  
“We have a song?” Rihanna's ‘Diamonds’ was coming out of the speakers. “That's our song?” Oh God, Kristina could never know about this!  
  
“It's the first song we danced to after I returned. And I like it better than the first song we ever danced to, which was that crappy Justin Timberlake song.”  
  
“SexyBack.” The name left Felicity's lips before she could stop herself. She remembered perfectly. She liked that he did, too.  
  
“I acted like the song was my personal hymn back then.” He rolled his eyes. “I was such a douche.”  
  
“You were.”  
  
“I still got you to say 'I do' to me.”  
  
“What can I say? You brought sexy back—even in a polo.”  
  
He chuckled and it was like music in her ears.  
  
“Make room for the very VIPs!” Thoroughly destroying the moment, Kristina fell onto the couch next to Felicity. “One hour until midnight!” she declared. “We should drink to that.”  
  
She drank to more than that. Fifty-nine minutes later, Kristina was drunk. Demarion was drunk. Tak was drunk. The guy Tak was making out with on the white couch was drunk.  
  
Felicity was way too sober.  
  
It wasn't like she needed alcohol to party, but she hated being like the designated driver when she _had_ a driver. The amount of champagne her best friend had downed was the only reason why she whooped now when LMFAO's “Sexy and I know it” faded to Psy's ‘Gangnam Style.’ That settled it: 2012—a horrible year in dance music.  
  
Oliver was sober, too.  
  
That made things slightly better.  
  
Standing next to him on the stupid VIP-platform, Felicity held on to her champagne flute as the music stopped. It was time. The final countdown of 2012 was happening around Felicity and Kristina nudged her with her elbow until she finally joined in. “Four... three... two... one.” Cheers erupted all around.  
  
The projection that had turned the ceiling into a star-filled scenery suddenly vanished and instead the real sky became visible. The first fireworks were exploding in the night, painting colorful freckles into the darkness.  
  
“Happy New Year,” Oliver whispered into Felicity's ear.  
  
She turned to him. “Happy New Year.” She added a smile that died on her lips as she noticed how close he was to her, how close his face was to hers. Bringing his right hand up, he cupped her cheek and then he kissed her. Feeling his soft lips on hers caused her heart to take an unexpected jump. Enjoying the sensation, she closed her eyes, brought her hand up to his biceps and let herself get lost in the moment. The kiss lasted a little longer than a peck at midnight should, but in Felicity's opinion it ended way too soon. She gave herself another second to stare up into Oliver's eyes before she broke contact and accepted her overexcited best friend's first hug of 2013.  
  
_____________________________  
  
  
Felicity had given in to going to the planetarium-party, but she wasn't ready to after-party at Poison. “Come oooooon-e!” Kristina whined. “2013's only three hours old! All of Demarion's friends are waiting at Poison.”  
  
Standing on the sidewalk in front of the planetarium, Felicity really didn't feel like having this discussion. Not only because there were paparazzi close by, but mostly because she really wanted to go home.  
  
“We can't go there,” Oliver said. “It's Max Fuller's club. And he hates me.”  
  
His hand was resting on Felicity's back. It had been there most of the evening. It had started out resting low, on her lower back, which was covered by the black cloth of her dress. In the last three hours, since the kiss, Oliver's hand had continuously travelled higher, to where her back was bared. They had sat on the VIP-sofa and his fingers had drawn lazy circles up and down her spine. That hadn't really helped to slow down her heartbeat, quickened by just one small kiss.  
  
Luckily, Oliver's fingers were stilled at the moment, her dress was separating her skin from his touch. With that many cameras present, she preferred it this way.  
  
“Tina, you should go,” she urged. “We'll meet Demarion's friends some other time. Take the Bentley and go to Poison.”  
  
“We can have the Bentley?” Demarion's eyes shone as if it were Christmas again. “Seriously?”  
  
Oliver nodded agreement. “Seriously. Have fun.”  
  
“Knowing rich people is AWESOME!” Demarion proclaimed.  
  
The statement sounded strange in Felicity's ears, but before she could consider it further, she found herself in a hug with her best friend. “Thanks for an amazing night,” Kristina said.  
  
“Thanks for coming with us and for sticking to your promise and not picking a fight with Laurel. Even though your stink eye was perfect.”

Kristina looked at her friend. “Anytime, hon, anytime. And, please, remember: YOLO!”  
  
She gave Felicity a kiss on the cheek, let go of her, and pulled Oliver into a hug. She said something to him, but Felicity was distracted by Demarion poking his head out of the Bentley, calling, “Shawn will shit his PANTS!”  
  
Felicity turned back to the others in time to see Kristina pull her hand out of Oliver's jacket pocket. Felicity frowned, but Kristina placing another kiss on her cheek stopped her from inquiring about it. Oliver moved next to her, his hand found a comfortable position on her back (above the dress) instantly and together they watched the Bentley drive away.  
  
“Seems like we'll have to take a taxi.”  
  
That was easier said than done. Felicity really regretted offering the Bentley so freely. Getting a taxi on New Year's had proven near impossible—until Oliver had walked into traffic and forced the driver of a yellow car to press the brakes so hard the tires were actually screeching. Oliver had made it up to the man by adding a hefty tip.  
  
Greeting the doorman sitting behind the polished counter, Felicity and Oliver entered the lobby of their apartment building, “Rafid, Happy New Year!” Felicity greeted.  
  
“Happy New Year, Mrs. Queen, Mr. Queen.” The man smiled. “Did you have a nice night?”  
  
“We did, thank you,” Felicity answered. “I hope working tonight wasn't too bad.”  
  
“It wasn't.” What else was he supposed to say? “Goodnight.”  
  
“Goodnight.” Together, Oliver and Felicity walked toward the elevator, open and already waiting for them. Oliver swiped his security card and pressed the button for their floor. Slowly, the doors slid shut and the dim sounds of the cabin starting to move surrounded them. They stood next to each other, staring ahead. Felicity couldn't exactly say why, but she was very aware of his presence. Ever since midnight she had been, but this was the first time since then that they were truly alone. Out of the corner of her eye she glanced at him and found him doing the same. Feeling caught, she quickly averted her eyes and stared ahead. Her bad act lasted for approximately half a second before she gave up and turned toward Oliver—only to find him doing the same.  
  
They collided in the best way possible.  
  
Simultaneously, they reached for each other. Their lips crashed together as his hands flew to her face and hers to his back. His hands tangled into her hair as he deepened the kiss, causing her to part her lips and welcome him with the teasing tip of her tongue. It was nothing like the sweet kisses they had shared before—sweet kisses that had already shaken Felicity. This was heated right from the start, this was demanding and rocking Felicity's world on a very different level.  
  
Suddenly a high “pling” rang through the small cabin, announcing that they had arrived at their destination. The idea to part again caused Felicity to dimly groan against Oliver's lips.  
  
Keeping his lips on hers, his tongue dancing around hers, Oliver gently untangled his hands from her hair, only to let them travel down her back and down further. She understood the unspoken message and in the next moment her legs were around his waist as she clung to him. His hands held to her ass as she brought her hands to his face, now below hers.  
  
For a second the thought that a guy who was forbidden from dancing probably shouldn't be holding her up like this entered her mind, but it vanished instantly. She couldn't stop kissing him, didn't want to stop kissing him, tasting him on her lips. He fumbled with the keys and managed to open the door to their apartment. He carried her into the hall, kicked the door shut and her back connected with the nearest wall.  
  
The sudden impact caused her to gasp and their lips to at last break contact. Using the flat surface to steady her, Oliver let his hands trail from her behind to her thighs, slid them under her dress, and brought them up again, caressing her skin while she hooked her feet behind his back. His face was still close to hers, their heavy breathing brushing each other’s skin.  
  
In the darkness of the hall she couldn't really make out his face, but she could feel his warmth, feel the way his chest rose and fell. His scent surrounded her. She felt his strength in the way he held her, in the way his muscles worked as he leveled her against the wall, pressing himself against her center. All of this combined to a near overwhelming sensation. Right then, she felt desired. She felt connected to him. She felt safe.  
  
Bringing her right hand to his face, she let her fingertips glide over his cheek and down to his jaw. The feather-light touch caused his breath to hitch in his throat. She loved his reaction, loved that she affected him so much, because his closeness sure had an intoxicating effect on her. She wanted him. She had known that for quite some time, but in the intimacy of this moment she knew that she wanted him in every sense possible.  
  
“Oliver,” she breathed, and her voice sounded strange in her own ears. There was so much she wanted to say, so much she needed him to know, but right then all words escaped her. She was muted by the sheer amount of emotion, of meaning she wanted to share. Never had that happened to her.  
  
“Felicity.” His face was so close that his lips nearly brushed against hers. “I know.”  
  
That basically said nothing and everything, but she was sure that he did, he did know, and it was enough for her. It was more than enough actually, as he pressed up against her. She could feel him through the barrier that was his pants and her panties combined and it caused the heat that was circling within Felicity to rise even more.  
  
He met her hard kiss with equal passion. His body pressed her firmly against the wall, pinning her down, increasing the want inside her until she lost track of how long they tasted each other while his hand caressed her legs. Gasping for air, they finally ended the kiss. Her lips parted, she let her head fall back and closed her eyes as his mouth travelled along her jaw, down her throat, and to her neck. He took a moment to suck on her pulse point, prompting a moan from Felicity, before he took her earlobe in his mouth.  
  
His breath brushed her ear shell as he whispered, “Felicity.” Her name, it was a demand and a request at the same time. It was every dirty word and every loving phrase he could have said at once and it caused the collected heat to shoot to her stomach and deeper.  
  
There was only one answer. “Oliver.” Her voice was coated, heavy with the desire tightening its grip on her. She tilted her hips slightly, adding a little friction, and that spurred Oliver into action. He kissed her again as he shifted his weight, closed his arms around her, and carried her into the bedroom.  
  
There, her feet touched the ground again. Still not ending the kiss, he shrugged his jacket off and let it drop to the floor.  
  
Turns out, there are moments when Oliver Queen didn't insist on using the coat rack.  
  
His hands moved to her back and ran down her spine like they had done so often tonight. But this time they didn't linger, they were searching. Finally, he found the zipper on the side of her dress and pulled it down. Stepping back, Oliver brought enough space between them so that he could pull his dress shirt and the t-shirt underneath over his head. Subconsciously, Felicity licked her lips, which were burning so good from their intense kissing. The huge windows let the city lights in, revealing him to her searching eyes. A dim smile shone on his face as he met her gaze for a second. She shrugged the dress off her shoulders and let it slide off her curves and to the floor. Now his eyes travelled over her body, taking her in, how she stood there, in only her red heels and purple underwear.  
  
Relief filled her, because she had chosen pretty underwear tonight, even matching ones, not the comfortable ones she mostly wore. It was an unwanted and unsexy thought, but Felicity couldn't stop it, because she knew that she wasn't a sexy vixen. Never had been. But the purple lace was an improvement to their wedding night, when Felicity had worn a blue bra and yellow cotton panties with little ice-cream cones. And with that memory of their first shared night, another one was triggered and—  
  
“Felicity,” his voice was soft as he stepped to her. His hand cupped her cheek. “I can see you thinking.” His thumb brushed her skin. “Talk to me.”  
  
“I'm not on the pill.” Oh God, what was she doing? She was messing it up. Her brain was telling her to not say all of that, but her mouth was not listening. “I'm sorry. That's not very sexy. I'm not good with the sexy stuff. I'm not _bad_ in— I mean seduction, that's not.... I know I'm ruining the moment, but last time we had unprotected sex and—”  
  
“Felicity.” His hand left her face, reaching into his pants pocket and pulling a wrapped condom out. He smiled slightly. “Okay?”  
  
She stared at his hand for a second and managed to nod before she pulled his face down to hers again. His hands rested on her back, pulling her body to his naked chest, limiting all space between them. Clinging together they tumbled onto the bed. There was nothing left to say, only to do. Her hands explored his body, sliding over unmarked soft skin and uneven scarred tissue. Her lips and tongue joined the exploring. His hands, strong and rough, wandered over her body, her skin was nibbled and sucked. Skilled hands slid past the lacy barrier of her panties and dipped into her center until she quickly opened his belt and snaked her hand into his briefs to close around him.  
  
Their touches were demanding, claiming right from the start. There was so much pressure inside them and it needed to be released. They had waited too long and now everything took too long.  
  
The remaining clothes were quickly shed. His pants dropped to the floor, his underwear, too. With skilled fingers he put the condom in place before he slipped her heels off her feet – she had forgotten she was still wearing them – and her panties down her legs. He put her left foot in his hand and kissed the inside of her leg, causing her to open for him. He crawled over her until his face was over hers and then she felt him at her opening. She gasped as he entered her. Despite their previous hurry, he slipped into her slowly, gently, giving her time to process the new sensation. Overwhelmed, she had to close her eyes. She didn't realize that she was biting her lip until he was finally sheathed inside her. Lazily, she opened her eyes again. He towered over her, watching her every reaction.  
  
“You're beautiful.” There was a tone in his voice she had never heard before and it caused a shiver to run through her while a smile showed on her face. She wanted to say something, but all that left her lips next was another moan as he started to move, slowly, but picking up speed instantly. His hands rested next to her head, circling her, holding her, their chests rubbed together so perfectly. Needing to feel more of him, needing him to enter her deeper, she brought her legs up. Meeting his thrusts, tilting her hips, she urged him on.  
  
He claimed her with each thrust, and she let him, wanting him to have all of her as her breathing turned heavier and her heartbeat quicker, as sweat coated their bodies, and her fingernails dug into his back. He built up the passion quickly and forcefully until she was filled to the brink, until there was nothing left for it to do but spill. Her body tensed while utter joy crashed through her, her breath catching in her throat. He kept moving, prolonging the sensation, but followed her only a few thrusts later. In the dim illumination the light outside provided, she watched him as he fell over the edge, looking utterly strong and completely vulnerable at the same time.  
  
Her heart was drumming in her chest as she stared up at him. He was gasping for air as he looked at her. And strangely all Felicity could think was that her best friend was right: this was the best way to start the new year.


	19. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the emotional roller-coaster that was the previous chapter I think we should just jump right to the morning after. So, let me make this short, but know that (despite the brevity) I mean this whole-heartedly: you are awesome, I cannot thank you enough, your (heated) comments were the best! 
> 
> Also: **Albiona** made me rewrite a little of this—and she was right. I love her, even when she’s all bossy, because she makes me better. ;)
> 
> Okay, now let’s get to Oliver being all _Oliver_ ….

**January 1 st, 2013**  
  
This was worse than their first morning after.  
  
And considering how horrible their first morning after had been, that was really saying something.  
  
On that horrible morning in Las Vegas, when she had woken up with a killer hangover and pure panic reducing her ability to think, at least Oliver had _been there_. He had been there looking all smug and pleased with himself and ready to please her again, being all naked and infuriating.  
  
On the first morning of the year 2013, Oliver wasn't there. All Felicity was faced with was an empty bed while she lay there, all naked and infuriated.  
  
Her first thought had been that he must be making breakfast, but the apartment lay in complete silence. Not even the soft gurgling of the coffeemaker could be heard. When she entered the main room, draped in her robe, her suspicions were confirmed. Even though she knew it was futile, she checked the bathroom next to gym, which he had claimed as his own. It was as empty as the gym.  
  
Felicity knew that she was hardly leading a conventional marriage, but this was just stupid: sneaking out of the apartment you shared with somebody who was (legally speaking) your spouse, after a sex-filled night with your (legally speaking) spouse was stupid. And hurtful! Especially after he had said that he _knew_.  
  
Really, she should have known.  
  
Feeling the need to do something, Felicity decided to start the year 2013 with an extended jog on her treadmill.  
  
She was running full speed when she realized what she was doing—because, really, how very Oliver Queen of her.  
  
Anger and disappointment spurred her on and the always repeating question of _why_ he had left. She didn't have to wonder _where_ he had gone. There was only one place he could go on the world’s official hangover day when everybody holed up in their homes, lounging on the couch and calling the most pressing people to wish them a happy new year.  
  
That reminded her: she had to call Moira.  
  
No! _He_ had to call Moira. She was his mother. He had to talk to her.  
  
After he came back from the Foundry.  
  
Because where else would he be? Had he made a new year’s resolution she didn't know about? Had he promised himself he’d start training again?  
  
It had been two weeks since he had last been in the Foundry, since she had last been at the Foundry. She had to say that she hadn't missed it. She enjoyed the ordinary normalcy their life had become in the last two weeks. If it were up to her, it would have gone on like that.  
  
Of course, she had known that it wouldn't. It couldn't. There was the wreck in a warehouse, the cyber-attack on Firestorm, and the stupid-ass list—which, apparently, hadn't been complied by Oliver's father, but by somebody who had hired another archer to kill The Hood. And that archer was still out there. This was too big of a mess to ignore, Felicity knew, but it had been nice to do so for a little while.  
  
She was sure that Oliver enjoyed being casual, too.  
  
No, that was the wrong tense. She had been sure that he enjoyed it, too.  
  
Now she wasn't anymore. Because she had also been sure that he'd be there this morning and she had been epically wrong about that. She had been so sure that they were on the same page, that last night had been more than releasing tension. She had been certain that last night had been a turning point of sorts in their relationship.  
  
Last night, she had looked him in the eyes and she had seen something there.  
  
Maybe she’d been hallucinating. Or just dreamed it. Or just _wanted_ to see something.  
  
Felicity’s feet were pounding on the conveyer as she ran. Sweat was trailing down her spine, her heart was pumping hard, and her breathing was heavy.   
  
That was enough, she decided. Her running and her inner debate, neither was getting her anywhere.  
  
Suddenly, she felt exhausted, both physically and mentally.  
  
She barely took the time to get her heart-rate slowed down before she turned the treadmill off and headed into her bathroom, the big one next to her bedroom.  
  
Carelessly dropping her workout clothes to the bathroom floor, she undressed. Oliver hated her habit of leaving her clothes everywhere. _Who cares?_ Felicity thought bitterly. This was _her_ bathroom next to _her_ bedroom. _His_ bedroom and _his_ bathroom were on the other end of the hall.  
  
She hated it, all the his-and-her stuff that surrounded her, when all she wanted was an “our”.  
  
After last night she couldn't deny that that was exactly what she wanted. More than anything. She wanted to mean as much to him as he did to her, she wanted him to be more than a paper-husband, she wanted the ring on her right hand to really mean something. She wanted his toothbrush to be next to hers in that damn toothbrush mug she was looking at right now.  
  
Following this sudden thought, she headed to his bathroom, grabbed his toothbrush, brought it back down the hall, and dropped it next to her own. For a moment she took the sight in, then she realized how stupid she and that whole action was. It was stupid to put their toothbrushes together. It was a useless gesture and just as it was useless to fantasize that things could be different.  
  
Felicity was done being stupid. It was time to confront Oliver about what it was he wanted. She had pushed doing so back time and time again. After he had given her the ring, after she had kissed him, she hadn't dared to talk to him about it, because she feared that she wouldn't like what he had to say. But knowing that he had only released five years worth of tension last night and felt nothing more was better than her freaking out, better than not knowing if he did or didn't want what she wanted. Why ever Oliver Queen had fled from _her_ bed this morning, she would go and find out.  
  
With determination she stepped under the spray of hot water to take a quick shower. It was time to go to the Foundry and make him talk to her, whatever the outcome.  
  
_______________________________  
  
  
Oliver had left to go to the Foundry, but ended up at Big Belly Burger.  
  
It was an entirely different route than he’d intended. But his subconscious had led him in the right direction, because he had absolutely no desire to go the Foundry.  
  
He knew he couldn't avoid it forever. There were too many things that needed his attention. But those things wouldn’t get it today. Not on the day _after_. Yesterday his self-control had imploded spectacularly, the carefully constructed walls had tumbled.  
  
Yesterday he had given in.  
  
Today he couldn’t deny the truth any longer: he wanted to keep giving in to her, give her everything.   
  
This morning, when he had woken up next to her, all denial he had left inside him had evaporated. He had looked down at her, dared to gently trace a strand of hair out of her face, and had known that Felicity was everything to him.  
  
It was different than their first shared morning after, when he had looked at her and remembered how good the sex had been, how good she had been, and when he had decided that he wanted her to continue being good to him. He hadn't really seen the person, only some hot nerd to ready for another romp.  
  
Now all Oliver could see was Felicity. He saw the fierce, loyal, quick-witted, messy, and sometimes rambling woman he had gotten to know in the last months: the woman looking beautiful with the glasses and the ponytail, standing her ground in the corporate world. The woman who forced him to face his family, who had so many insecurities but wouldn't let them stop her, who had his back constantly and in every way imaginable since he had returned. Lying there, looking at her, he had remembered how amazing she had looked in her ecstasy, how she dared to be vulnerable for him. She was all of that, and it made her beautiful.  
  
She was the smartest person he knew. And she had been dumb enough to choose him.  
  
All of that had led him to one simple fact: he wanted his wife to be his _wife_.  
  
When that thought had entered his mind, he had had to get out of the bed, because words of warning that had been in the back of his head for days suddenly shoved to the front: he meant danger to Felicity. If he cared for her, he'd keep his distance.  
  
John Diggle’s voice had been a silent whisper on the edge of Oliver’s conscious for days, because he knew that the solider was right. Oliver had tried to act accordingly, had tried to distance himself from Felicity—as much as he could with them living together and working together in the Foundry. That attempt had failed epically. Last night he had crashed and burned completely.  
  
His heart and his brain were leading him into two completely different directions. He had to try to bring both to the same destination—and Big Belly Burger was the perfect place for that.  
  
He was starting on his second cup of coffee, served by Carly Diggle, when John Diggle forcefully ripped the door open. With long strides he walked to the booth Oliver sat in. Diggle's eyes were hard and challenging, but his attitude didn't faze Oliver. “Happy New Year,” he greeted his former bodyguard.  
  
Diggle shortly glanced at Carly, who gave him a small nod before heading toward the back. Apparently, she knew that things weren’t good between the two men and was so kind to give them some space. The swing door leading to the kitchen was still moving, the last sign of Carly’s retreat, when Diggle focused his attention on Oliver. His voice was hard. “What are you doing here?”  
  
“Enjoying the fact that I have this place all to myself,” Oliver answered and motioned to the mug on the table. “Having some coffee.”  
  
“Have it somewhere else.” Diggle glared at him.  
  
Again, Oliver didn't care. “Have you considered my offer?”  
  
For a second the huge man standing next to the table looked like he couldn't believe his ears. “That's a hell of a way to put it,” he scoffed.  
  
“It's an offer,” Oliver insisted. “It gives you a chance to do the good that compelled you to enter the military.”  
  
“You think you're doing good? What good could come from this?” Diggle shook his head in disbelief. “You were born with a platinum spoon in your mouth, Queen. And just because you spent five minutes on an island, I'm supposed to believe you found religion?”  
  
“Five minutes.”  
  
Diggle raised a questioning eyebrow. Oliver sensed that the other man was expecting a complaint that Diggle had belittled his time away, but Oliver didn't care about that. He had endured much worse than this little quip that didn't even sting.  
  
“Give me five minutes to explain and if you want to leave then I’ll never bother you again.” Oliver motioned to the bench on the other side of the table. “I know you don't think much of me, but I'm a man of my word.”  
  
Glancing around the empty restaurant, John Diggle gave himself a moment to contemplate it. With a heavy sigh that sounded strangely like defeat, he finally slid into the seat. He sat there stiffly, saying nothing.  
  
Oliver reached into the pocket of his brown jacket and pulled his cellphone out. Only a few swipes and pushes later, he offered it to the soldier. “Press play.”  
  
Reluctantly, Diggle took the phone and did as he was told. He stared at the display and Oliver could practically see recognition and understanding cross his face as watched. Still, he asked, “What's this?”  
  
“What's left of the boat that sank in the North China Sea,” Oliver explained. “Felicity found the wreck that night she ditched Rob. It’s in a warehouse. Here in Starling City.”  
  
John Diggle's eyes narrowed as he brought the phone closer to his face. “This looks like—” His eyes snapped to Oliver.  
  
He nodded. “Yeah. We think the boat was sunk on purpose, bombed. We have no proof, though. Felicity ran some tests, but after five years on the bottom of the ocean, all hints of explosives have been washed away.” He raised his hands, sensing up an upcoming accusation. “And before you chide me, I tried to tell Felicity that it was too dangerous for her to get involved but she... insisted.” Oliver's mouth tightened shortly before he continued. “But since then the cyber-attack happened and I'm sure it's connected to this.” He gestured to the phone in Digg's hand. “Somebody stored the boat there and somebody's after Felicity, because she found it.”  
  
“And that's why I should join you? To protect Felicity? That's why I should side with...,” he whispered the next words, which told Oliver that he had been right about the man opposite to him, “the _Hood_? That's why I should be okay with you killing random people?”  
  
“They're not random.”  
  
“Oh? And that's better, why?”  
  
Oliver dug into his other jacket pocket and took his notebook out. He handed it to Diggle, who placed Oliver’s cellphone on the table. The younger man explained, “That was my father's. He told me I had to right his wrongs, and that's what I've been doing. The people listed in the book, they all have stolen and lied and built their wealth of the backs of others, leaving devastation and death in their wake. I was sure that my father compiled the list, but I recently found out that I was wrong about that. But it doesn't change the fact that all of the people in that book have failed this city. They see nothing wrong with raising themselves up by stepping on other people's throats. And my father was one of them. I'm giving them all a chance to right their wrongs, but if they don't I will make sure that they won't wrong anybody ever again. It needs to stop, and if it's not gonna be the courts and if it's not gonna be the cops, then it's gonna be me. And, I hope, you.”  
  
“I still haven't heard a good reason for me to be supportive of that.”  
  
“I am righting my family's wrongs, and I am offering you a chance to right the wrong done to yours.”  
  
“What are you talking about?”  
  
“The police never caught your brother's shooter.”  
  
Suddenly, Diggle's voice was threatening. “Leave Andy out of this!”  
  
But Oliver didn't. “The bullets were laced with curare. That's Floyd Lawton's M.O. He’s the sniper that I stopped, the sniper you saved Felicity from, the one who hit you.”  
  
“Are you trying to tell me that you took down Andy's killer?”  
  
“I'm—”  
  
Oliver hesitated, because as much as he wished he could tell John Diggle that, he couldn't. The police had never found a body, even though they had checked the right place. Floyd Lawton, aka Deadshot, had disappeared. Oliver had been sure that an arrow in the sniper's eye had been enough to kill him, but he hadn't confirmed it when he had seen that Felicity was held captive by a man with a gun. So, Oliver didn't know for certain. And he wouldn't let the man opposite him, who suddenly looked strangely hopeful, believe he did.  
  
“I'm giving you a chance to help other people's families. Digg, there's something going on in this city, something I can’t pinpoint exactly, but it's orchestrated by somebody, somebody who sent an assassin after The Hood to keep him from targeting the list.” He spoke haltingly, leaning over the table, closer toward the other man. “You're a capable man, Digg, I could use somebody like you on my side, on Felicity's side. I need your help to keep her safe.”  
  
Silence sank over the two men. Slowly, Oliver leaned back in his seat, letting his words settle, giving the other man time to think.  
  
Diggle did that, staring at the book, going through the pages, slowly, calculatingly. Finally, he took his eyes off the hand-written names and placed them on Oliver. Holding his gaze, Diggle let go of the book. It fell to the table with a soft thud. Another second of eye-contact followed, then John Diggle got up.  
  
“Digg,” Oliver's call stopped the other man after two steps. “Before I keep my promise and leave you be, I think I owe you at least a thank you. For saving my life.”  
  
Again, the solider hesitated. He stood there, kept his back to Oliver, but then he gave a quick nod of wordless acceptance. He walked out of the restaurant without looking back or returning the look full of question Carly sent him as she came back from the kitchen.  
  
Defeat claimed Oliver as the door closed behind John Diggle. With him went Oliver’s hope. Because without the soldier’s support Oliver couldn’t dare to follow his heart.  
  
__________________________  
  
  
Nothing but silence welcomed him.  
  
That was unexpected. He had expected Felicity to be home. Carefully closing the door, he walked into the apartment, put his keys on the cabinet in the hall, and hung his brown jacket onto the coat rack. “Felicity?” he called. No answer. There wasn’t a note on the mirror in the hall either, which was her favorite place to put informative/instructive post-its.  
  
_Maybe she’s at Kristina’s_ , he reasoned and couldn’t help but feel strangely relieved. That made things easier. Packing his stuff without her being there to witness it was the better option.  
  
He wished there was another way, but there wasn’t. He had to move out. The last days had proven that distancing himself from Felicity emotionally was impossible if they lived together. He had to put an actual distance between them. It was the logical choice to make.  
  
Never had being logical felt so utterly wrong.  
  
He just hoped she wouldn’t be gone too long. As much as he dreaded talking to her, stealing away without a word wasn’t an option. Oliver wasn’t _that_ kind of guy anymore, a coward who ran off. He owed her an explanation. He needed to make her understand that he was doing this for her, that he was trying to keep her safe. Maybe he should call her and ask her to come home, because he didn’t feel like waiting for hours until Felicity and Kristina were done with their—  
  
Suddenly worry flashed through him. What if Felicity wasn’t at Kristina’s? The door hadn’t been locked and there wasn’t a note on the mirror. Neither was like Felicity. _No_ , he chided himself, there was absolutely no indication that anything had happened to her. And suddenly another thought occurred to him: maybe she was still sleeping. He turned around and headed to the bedroom. There, he was greeted by nothing but Felicity's jogging shoes laying on the floor next to the bed. Feeling the need to check, just to make sure she wasn’t home, Oliver crossed the room and entered Felicity's bathroom.  
  
Instantly, his annoyance flared. _That woman!_ There was a clothes basket right in the corner. Was it too much to ask for her to put her workout clothes in there? He bent down and picked the black pants up from the bathmat as well as her light pink top and her sports bra. Straightening up to throw them in the basket, his eyes fell on the sink. Instantly, he froze to the spot.  
  
There, in the toothbrush mug, were two toothbrushes: his green one (Felicity had thought that color choice was so clever) and her pink one. It was the most ordinary thing, a thing that couples everywhere did, but it caught Oliver completely unprepared. He had never been couple-y like that. Never had he been this serious in a relationship, and the two toothbrushes standing side by side looked serious to him—and seriously nice. It looked like they belonged together, in that mug. It looked right, it felt right.  
  
Dimly, it dawned on Oliver that he was reading too much into a perfectly normal thing, but he couldn't stop it. This was telling him so much without anybody saying anything.  
  
Suddenly, he heard a key being turned in the door. Without thinking any further, he walked to the hall with huge steps, only to find Felicity in the process of taking her coat off.  
  
“Why did you put them together?”  
  
That was an incredibly stupid question. Oliver realized that as soon as it passed his lips. It also was too cryptic for Felicity, who stopped mid-movement and frowned at him. “What?”  
  
“Why's my toothbrush with yours?”  
  
A soft blush crept onto Felicity's cheeks. “Damn it,” she muttered. “How could I forget to put that back?” Letting her coat slide down her shoulders, she caught it and held it in both hands. “I wanted to see what it’d look like. I know it's stupid, but….” She hesitated, staring at him for quite a few seconds. He could practically see her make a decision, forcing herself to say more.  
  
When she did, her voice sounded more determined. “I hate that you have your own bathroom. And your own bedroom. I hate that we're basically like roommates. The yours and the mine, I hate it. I want this to be ours. I want us to be a real _us_. I know those are the same words, but they mean something different in my head. I want this to be meaningful. And I want you to be there when I wake up after we have sex.” She hesitated, looking not entirely happy with herself. “Which kind of implies that I want to have sex with you again…. which I do. I will not add any praise about your sex-skills to this rant,” she told herself more than him, “because I went really wrong somewhere in the middle of this when I wanted this to be about commitment and—”  
  
Letting go of her sportswear, he crossed the small distance separating them, brought his hands to her face and his lips to hers. Mid-sentence, he silenced her with a kiss that was gentle but full of passion.  
  
Oliver had come home determined to move out, to distance himself from Felicity in order to take away some of the danger and to reduce the distraction that kept him from fulfilling his task. Because he didn't know if he could be enough to protect her, if he could dare to do it without a competent strategist and loyal soldier having his back.  
  
That resolution hadn't even lasted five minutes.  
  
Because he couldn't deny it: he wanted commitment, too. He wanted them to be an us, wanted his damn toothbrush next to hers in a shared bathroom and them together in a shared bed.  
  
Slowly, his lips left hers. He kept his face close to hers and whispered, “I like my toothbrush next to yours.”  
  
Her smile made her even more beautiful. “Really?” she asked with a sparkle in her eyes that he really enjoyed seeing. “That's all it took? The toothbrush? I sat in my car for, like, thirty minutes and practiced a huge speech—which was way better than the stuff I just said.”  
  
His thumb brushed over her cheek. “The stuff you just said was very you, I liked it.” He kissed her again. A part of him never wanted to let her go, wanted to keep kissing and holding her forever, but another part of him felt like clearing some things up. Reluctantly, he broke the kiss, but kept his face close to hers. They shared another long look before he ended the silence surrounding them with a question. “Where were you, anyway?”  
  
“The Foundry. I was sure I'd find you there. Where were you?”  
  
“At Big Belly Burger.”  
  
Surprised, she blinked at him. Then she bent down and picked up her coat, which had dropped to the floor when her hands clung to his arms during the kiss. He watched her as she hung it over the coat rack. A smile on her face, she turned to him. “See? I can make an effort.” She motioned to the main room. “I forgot my speech, but there are some things I need to say.”  
  
Stepping over the pile of clothes on the floor – because he would leave that be for now – he followed her into the main room and sat down next to her on the couch.  
  
Tugging her foot under her, she turned to him. “Why did you leave this morning?”  
  
Of course, that was her first question. Oliver sighed. “I needed to try and change Diggle's mind. When I first talked to him, last week, he told me that if I really cared about you, I'd let you go and reduce the danger in your life. I thought I could get him involved and make sure you were better protected without having to let you go.” He sighed. “That plan failed. I came back here, thinking I couldn't be me and The Hood. But... I have to find a way. I want to be with you, Felicity. And I can't wait until I'm done with the list.”  
  
She brought her hand to his leg. “That's good. Because I don't want to wait that long either.”  
  
“Yes,” he dared a small smirk. “I got that from what you said.” He plucked her hand off his leg and cradled it in his hands. “I'll make sure to protect you from whatever's brewing out there.”  
  
“Oliver—”  
  
He knew she wanted to object and call him overprotective, but he wouldn't even let her start. “No, Felicity. I have to continue crossing names off the list, I have to keep the promise I gave my father, but I can't do that if I’m worried about you.” His thumb brushed over the back of her hand as he looked into her eyes. “I need to know that we're taking all possible precautions to reduce potential threats. I need this or I can't—”  
  
Now she cut him off. “Okay, what precautions are you thinking about?”  
  
“I’ll get you a new bodyguard, and you won't ditch him. Ever. We will improve security in this building, because Diggle's right—it's too easy to get in and out unnoticed. I know, I've been doing it since I moved in. Those are the most pressing things. I’m sure I’ll think of more. I'll also start training again tomorrow. It's been too long. I need to get back in shape.”  
  
“Oliver, we've been living together for months,” she reminded him. “The danger isn't any bigger now than it was two months ago. Things might have changed for us, but not for anybody out there. The two of us really being together doesn't increase any kind of potential danger.”  
  
“The other archer is still out there. And if he ever uncovers my identity, he will come for you. I need to know that you won't be caught alone and unprepared.” His voice showed how serious he was. “That might have been true before yesterday, but yesterday changed things. I need you to do this for me.”  
  
She thought for a moment before she nodded. “Okay. But good luck with trying to improve security in this building. You'll need the okay of the household committee and they like to discuss things to death, before declining. Mrs. Schumaker wanted to place this gigantic wooden fertility statue in the hall. It took them six months—”  
  
Again, she didn't get to finish a sentence as he kissed her. She broke it by leaning backward. “Don't think you can get away with that from now on, with the whole 'silence me with a kiss'-thing. Because no matter how amazing your kisses are, that's not okay.”  
  
Amused, he nodded. “I apologize.” He couldn't believe that the next sentence would leave his mouth. “Please, tell me about the fertility thing.”  
  
She stared at him, shortly, before muttering, “Maybe later.”  
  
Now she touched her lips to his. Her eyes fluttered shut as he deepened the kiss nearly instantly, as his tongue traced her lips, met her tongue, danced around it. He, too, closed his eyes, getting lost in feeling her. Last night, their touch had been heated and hurried. Today it was slower, more sensual.  
  
Last night, he had needed it to happen, today he wanted it to last.  
  
They continued kissing – making out really, which he should be too old for, but he wasn't; he would never get enough of kissing her – until she sat in his lap, straddling him. His hands left her face to run down her back. Tugging her blouse loose from her skirt, he let his fingers trail underneath the cloth and caressed her gently. He heard her breath hitch in her throat slightly and he loved it, loved her reaction, loved her soft skin under his fingertips, loved feeling her heat and her breathing.  
  
Suddenly, Felicity groaned—and it wasn't sexual but full of frustration. His fingers stilled. “What?” he asked.  
  
Slowly, she opened her eyes. “How many condoms did Kristina give you?”  
  
“How did you know that Kristina made sure we'd have protection?”  
  
“I had an intense morning jog to think about it, and it's the only thing that made sense.”  
  
“Don't worry,” he said. “She added a second one for good measure—and that's a direct quote.”  
  
Felicity brought her hand up to his cheek, demanding his full attention. “Oliver, this morning when I woke up and you weren't there, I—” He could see her search for words and gave her all the time she needed to come up with, “Please, don't do that again. Not like that. Don’t make it seem like you’re backing out.”  
  
“I won't,” he promised. “All I want to do is wake up next to you from here on out.”  
  
The smile that lit up her face just needed to be returned.  
  
His brain still told him that it wasn't the smartest thing to do, but Oliver consciously chose to ignore its warning and listen to his heart. Because after five years of hell, he had found himself a little piece of heaven.


	20. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for making you wait a little longer for this chapter. Life happened and delayed updating. I also apologize to everybody who wanted this chapter to start with couch-sex. Let me assure you: it happened, it was hot, it just happened between chapters. But I’m sure you can fill in the rest and make it better than anything I could come up with. ;-)
> 
> Please know, your amazing reactions to the previous chapter made me grin with glee. I’m very happy that you agreed with my choice to ignore complicated canon-Oliver and all the things he habitually does to end up miserable. I know I was a tease, making you fear for the worst, but I wanted to use the things you’ve come to expect because of the show to throw you for a loop. Your reactions gave me the impression that I managed to do so. ;-) I could also feel utter frustration with the way season three is playing out so far in some reviews. I can relate and will just put it out here: I dislike angst-y drama for the sake of drama. (But I enjoy drama with a purpose.) 
> 
> As always, **Albiona** polished this chapter before I posted, making it shine. I am grateful for her being my friend.
> 
> Okay, I really hope you'll enjoy the second half of this story that starts with the morning after the morning after. Because we all know that starting a relationship is only the beginning. ❤

**January 2 nd 2013**  
  
The second morning of 2013 was the first Felicity woke in Oliver’s arms.  
  
It might have been a day late for her liking, but, ultimately, the outcome was too nice to complain.  
  
Laying there, curled against his chest, his arm draped around her, his lips gently kissing her temple had been the best way to start the day—even if it also meant going to work and dealing with buggy software. It was an amazing addition to the routine they had developed after three months of living together. Having breakfast together, sharing the paper, it was well-practiced by now. They did all that this morning, too, but it felt different. Because this morning they had said goodbye with a kiss.  
  
What a difference a day could make. The best difference.  
  
Oliver told her he'd move his stuff into their bedroom, into their closet, before he'd go to the Foundry and get started with all the security measures he deemed necessary. It was the smallest version of moving, a gesture mostly, but Felicity appreciated him making that effort, as it was the visible sign that invisible things had changed.  
  
They were spouses making things official.  
  
Oliver's reaction to the shift was moving into her bedroom, Felicity's was making an appointment with her gynecologist.  
  
Kristina's was a triumphant grin—and a lame line. “Call me Cupid.” The grin turned even wider when she added, “Cupid with condoms. I think that makes me the best matchmaker _ever_.”  
  
Felicity gave her best friend this triumph, because she had really kind of saved New Year’s Eve.  
  
Slipping her stilettos off, Felicity brought her feet up, making herself comfortable on Kristina's couch. Candles were burning everywhere. Felicity had made enough jokes about her best friend's inability to resist the allure of scented candles and about feeling like Kristina was trying to woo her with favorable lighting.  
  
The truth was: it was cozy. Kristina's tiny apartment was like a second home to Felicity. After she had given birth to Jonas, only weeks after she had met Kristina, who had been her nurse throughout that terrible time, Kristina had offered for Felicity to hide at her place. It had been a gesture of random kindness that was very much Kristina. It was part of why Felicity loved her so much. It was part of the reason why Felicity let her gloat.  
  
Holding a wine-filled glass, Felicity looked at her best friend. “And how are things with Demarion?”  
  
Now the grin turned into a smile. “You should have seen him showing off the Bentley. I think you made his whole year—and I'm saying that knowing how much of it is left.” She rolled her eyes. “Guys and cars, what can you do?”  
  
“He told Oliver he wanted to start DJ-ing. Asked, if he could spin records in the club.”  
  
“Oh,” Kristina nodded. “He's really good. Oliver should let him.”  
  
“Tommy has to agree.”  
  
“Phht, Tommy Merlyn.” Tina made a dismissive gesture. “He owes you, like, one million favors. He better not decline.”  
  
“Demarion also asked if he could take the Bentley next Saturday for his high school reunion.” Felicity’s voice was careful. “Don’t you think it’s a little… much to ask from somebody he’s met once?”  
  
“He likes cars.” Her best friend sounded defensive.  
  
Felicity forced herself to say more. “I have a bad feeling about this. Demarion seemed to care more about the car than he did about you.”  
  
“That’s not true. He was just excited. He makes minimum wage. He’ll never be able to afford such a nice car.”  
  
“But he still wants to show it off at his high school reunion.” Seeing the annoyed look on Kristina’s face, Felicity brought her left hand up in a placating gesture. “I’m just saying: be careful, Tina. There’s something off about him.”  
  
“There isn’t,” Kristina said with emphasis. “Really, I know him and there’s nothing off. Everything is perfectly on and I am happy. Thanks for worrying but you really don’t have to.”  
  
A sigh fled from Felicity’s lips, but it came with a nod. Because, really, what could she do? She had said her piece and, ultimately, it was her best friend’s choice. “Just… be careful.”  
  
“Sure,” Tina dismissed the warning. Tipping her head to the side, the brunette watched the blonde opposite to her carefully. “You look really tired. And I don't mean tired like my hubby kept me up all night, but tired like exhausted.”  
  
“Yeah,” Felicity couldn't deny that. “I'm beat. Tak and I worked on the security software all day today. The way things are going, Firestorm really needs a win.” Not wanting to discuss her depressing work-life, she followed Tina’s example and switched topics. “Oh, and the guy Tak met at the party, Christopher, he called to set up a date.”  
  
“Wow,” Kristina exaggerated shock. “All three of us happy and with somebody? That has never happened before.”  
  
“It's a New Year’s miracle.”  
  
“I think you and hubby are the biggest miracle. But I'm happy for you, hon.” An honest smile lit Kristina's face. “He's good for you. I mean, he makes sure that you eat properly.” Accentuating her words, she raised her index finger. “He hires you a trustworthy housekeeper.” Middle finger. “Defends you against his best friend. Let’s you enjoy some wine with your best friend by agreeing to drive you home.” Ring finger and pinkie. “Kisses you thoroughly at midnight.” That was a thumbs up. “I can find no flaw.”  
  
Felicity couldn't help but laugh. If Tina only knew.  
  
  
  
**January 3 rd 2013**  
  
The problem with making a promise to Felicity was that he had to keep it.  
  
It wasn’t that Felicity would breathe down his neck if he didn't (even though he didn't doubt that she would). Oliver simply wanted to live up to his word with her.  
  
He would never give her a promise he couldn't keep. He had promised himself that.  
  
Last night, when he fetched her from Kristina's, she had noticed instantly that he had overstrained himself. He had tried to dismiss it as sore muscles, but he had woken up in the middle of the night coughing, because, yeah, he had overdone his training. Felicity had climbed out of bed, gotten him a glass of water, and made him promise to go easier until he had recovered completely.  
  
She hadn't asked him to wait on getting back in shape all-together, which showed him that she knew how to pick her battles. He would have never agreed to that. But he could agree to upping his training-routine more slowly; it was the smart thing to do, actually.  
  
And because of his promise, a two hour workout would have to be enough for today.  
  
He had other things to do, anyway.  
  
“You want to buy the building you live in?” His mother, sitting on the opposite couch in the mansion's living room, raised a questioning eyebrow. “Why?”  
  
“The housing committee's being difficult. I want to increase security.”  
  
“Oliver, we chose that apartment because of the security it provides already. When Felicity had to move out of her townhouse we made sure that she found a home somewhere safe.”  
  
“I don't doubt that,” Oliver said. “I just feel like security could be tighter.”  
  
“I find that ironic coming from you, when all you did was jump out of a moving car to escape the bodyguard I wanted you to have.”  
  
Pressing his lips together, Oliver stiffened in his seat. He sighed. “Point taken. It's just that with everything's that has happened lately, I’m worried about Felicity's safety. Armed men stormed her office building. Somebody shot at her and... captured her at the auction.” Trying to appeal to his mother, he added for good measure, “And, yes, there's my abduction.... I want to take some precautions.”  
  
His mother's face softened. “Sweetheart, of course, that must have shaken you.” She thought for a second. “I think the building might even be a good investment. Buying it shouldn't be a problem. I’ll have to talk to Walter, of course.”  
  
“Thank you,” Oliver said with a slow nod. After a very brief pause, he added, “How are things between you and Walter?”  
  
The question wasn't welcome; Oliver could see it on his mother's face: her gaze turned a bit more calculated while her back straightened even more.  
  
“Mom, you can tell me,” he said softly, trying to sound as much like a good, caring son as possible.  
  
It wasn't enough to get his mother to drop her guard. “We are trying, Oliver. That's all I know for sure.”  
  
“What's going on between you?” Oliver looked at the woman who had given birth to him, wishing she would let him in, hoping she would give him a little something, anything. He had so many awful suspicious about her, but she was his mother and he couldn't help but love her. He needed a hint that his love was justified.  
  
Instead, she smiled at him. It was a warm smile, full of affection and love, but it was also a dismissal. “Many things, Oliver. Some I thought lay behind us, but I should have known better.” She smoothed her perfectly tailored suit jacket out before she placed her attention squarely back on him. “But I could ask you the same thing: what is going on between you and Felicity?”  
  
“We're serious. We're happy.”  
  
It was the basic truth and somehow he felt too detached from his mother at the moment to give her any details or even a glimpse of the deep emotions that ran behind that unceremonious statement.  
  
Moira's even gaze rested on him, unwaveringly. Finally she said, “I see.”  
  
Oliver looked at her. “You disapprove?”  
  
“No, why should I?” She didn't move at all while saying that. “She is your wife.”  
  
“But she's not the woman you would've chosen for me.” It was a statement because he didn't have to question this; he knew.  
  
“Well, sweetheart, it's not up to me to choose your wife. You made that choice all by yourself many years ago and I supported it, as I will support every decision you make—including buying your building. I want nothing for you but happiness.”  
  
“I am happy.” It was the truth; he was happy with that aspect of his life, though many other aspects – including his mother and her possible actions – caused him unhappiness.  
  
“Then I am happy, too.”  
  
“ME, TOO!”  
  
Oliver hadn't noticed Thea before, but now he turned his head and saw her rush to him from the doorframe. She threw herself at him and hugged him. “Really,” Thea whispered against his neck. “I'm happy for you.”  
  
Oliver closed his arms around her. “Thank you.” Finally, Oliver realized, he had done something that his sister approved of.  
  
  
  
**January 4 th 2013**  
  
Vitali Tschenko certainly wasn't John Diggle.  
  
For one, Vitali Tschenko never smiled. He just stood there, observing, looking hardcore, which, admittedly, wasn't the worst quality for a bodyguard to have. But, it freaked out the Firestormers. John had mingled with people; Vitali simply stood guard, his arms crossed over his chest, his piercing green eyes scanning the room.  
  
His lack of popularity – established within one day of protecting the boss – was one reason why Felicity couldn't leave him behind. The other was that she had promised Oliver that she would take Vitali everywhere. And Oliver would seriously throw a fit – or something breakable – if she broke that promise.  
  
Thus, Felicity had no choice but to have Vitali tag along when Walter Steele unexpectedly showed up at Firestorm and asked her to accompany him to dinner.  
  
If she had known that “dinner” was a code-word for “docks”, she would have made up an important appointment.  
  
Because she could practically hear Oliver throw the exact fit – or other things – she had tried to avoid by bringing scary Vitali.  
  
How was she supposed to have known that Walter didn't want to talk to her about something important, about work or his situation at home, or even her situation at home? How was she supposed to have known that he would take her to the warehouse at the docks that she had visited twice before and that she really, really didn't want to visit a third time.  
  
She felt uneasy and her heartbeat was increasing with each step she took. She shouldn't be here. Thank God, she had already looped the surveillance system two times. Her familiarity with the system made it possible for her to do it a third time from her phone while pretending to write a work-related email. At least she, Walter, and Vitali wouldn't be caught on tape.  
  
That improved the situation by the smallest margin, but it still stayed bad. Being here was a mistake, she could feel it. Walking slower, she tried to come up with a reason to give Walter for turning around, for not walking into the warehouse looming over her. “Walter, what are we doing here?”  
  
“I need to show you something.” He gestured to the stairs leading to the metal door. “There's something in there, and I think Oliver should know about it. I want us to tell him about it together.”  
  
Oh. Great! 'Course that wasn't a horrible idea.  
  
She sighed and followed Walter up the stairs. Vitali walked by her side and positioned himself by the door while Walter typed the code Felicity would never forget into the panel. She looked at her perfectly efficient bodyguard. “Mr. Tschenko, please wait here for us.”  
  
“Sorry, Mrs. Queen,” he said in a thick Russian accent. “I have to check the inside.”  
  
What was it with men being so difficult today?!  
  
And what was it with Oliver and Russians? She needed to remember to ask him that tonight.  
  
Vitali reached for the door handle the moment a click indicated the code was accepted. He motioned for Walter and Felicity to wait. Not even thirty seconds later he was back, seeming completely unfazed by what was in there. Either he had no idea what it meant or he really didn't care. “I'll wait out here,” was all he said as he held the door open for the other two people to enter.  
  
Walter crossed the threshold first—and stopped dead in his tracks. Felicity moved next to him and couldn't help but blink herself.  
  
The first time Felicity had entered the warehouse she had been shocked, not knowing what to think. The second time had been better in that regard, but the third time was as shocking as the first. Again, the sight in front of her eyes left her speechless.  
  
Because there was nothing.  
  
The warehouse was empty. Where the destroyed _Queen’s Gambit_ should be, there was just the empty floor. Catching herself and pulling herself together, Felicity cleared her throat and feigned ignorance. “What did you want to show me, Walter?”  
  
“It's gone.”  
  
Yes. Felicity didn't know how to feel about that either. “What's gone?” she asked, not daring to look her mentor in the eyes.  
  
His answer was nothing but silence. Felicity could practically see Walter thinking as he stared at where the wreck had been, and she could see him make a decision. “Nothing, Felicity. I must have been mistaken.”  
  
Felicity knew that the smart thing would be to accept that and get the hell out of here. But she couldn't do so for several reasons. One was that her mentor knew her, and he knew she would never accept such a weak excuse. Walter was obviously suspicious enough to continue his researches after he had told her to stop. However he had managed it, he’d found this warehouse and the wreck. Felicity simply nodding and leaving would raise his suspicions as well.  
  
But most of all, Felicity couldn't say nothing because she cared about Walter Steele. He was obviously shaken and she couldn't leave him alone with all his thoughts and suspicions and worries, knowing he had nobody to share them with. “Walter,” she said softly, “I know that this is the warehouse rented by the company Moira invested in. I found it during my research. Which you told me to stop.”  
  
Slowly, he looked at her. “But you didn't stop, did you?” He sighed. “I should have known. Have you been here before?”  
  
She hated the next word that left her lips. “No.” Because her being monosyllabic was suspicions too, she added, “What was in here?”  
  
“Something that made me question everything I thought I knew about my wife.”  
  
Felicity couldn't help but swallow as she looked into the sad eyes of the man who had been the first to believe in her and her future. “What does that mean?”  
  
“It means that we should leave, Felicity. I don't know why I brought you here in the first place. I shouldn't have done so.”  
  
“But you did bring me here, and now you need to tell me more.”  
  
“If I told you, you wouldn't believe me.” He turned to her and looked at her hauntingly. “I will try to find out more. And if I do, I will inform you.”  
  
“I can help you. Let me help you.”  
  
A sad smile played around the corners of his lips. “I know, but I have come to find other sources. I want to keep you out of this as much as possible.”  
  
“Walter, you're not making any sense. You brought me here, you wanted to show me something, something you thought Oliver should know about. You can't drop all of these things at me and then tell me to forget it.”  
  
“I made a mistake bringing you here,” the English man admitted. “You are the only person I trust enough to show, but now I realize that I might be putting you in danger....”  
  
“No,” Felicity objected, because she knew that Walter wouldn't let this go, he would pursue this mystery and, unlike her, he didn't have a bow-swinging vigilante by his side. “Tell me what you need.”  
  
“I need you to go back to your husband, Felicity. I need you to trust me that I'll handle this.”  
  
“Walter—”  
  
“Do you trust me, Felicity?”  
  
“I do.” Because, yeah, she did.  
  
“Then, please, do as I ask you to. Please. Forget about this until I know more and we can take concrete action. Promise me you'll do this for me.”  
  
A sigh crawled up her throat, but Felicity kept it from escaping her lips. Reasoning with Walter was futile, she realized; he wouldn’t confide in her, wouldn’t bring her into his researches. She met Walter’s eyes, hating the next two words with a passion before even saying them.  
  
“I promise.”  
  
Never before had Felicity lied to Walter.  
  
Today she had done it twice in two minutes.  
  
____________________________________  
  
  
Felicity knew what Oliver looked like when he was angry.  
  
Right now, as he stood by the table in the Foundry, he wasn't angry.  
  
He was furious.  
  
When Oliver was angry, he yelled to let some tension out.  
  
But right now was one of the moments when Oliver kept all of the tension in. It was one of the moments when he was beyond yelling. He stood, tall and immobile, his face hard. His eyes were drilling into hers, his arms hung by his side, and he flexed his hands once before he spoke. He voice was pressed. “You went there again?”  
  
“I took scary Vitali.”  
  
“You went there _again_?”  
  
“I looped the cameras.”  
  
“You went there AGAIN?!”  
  
Okay, now he was yelling. And this was _not_ her fault. “What was I supposed to do?” she demanded to know, annoyed. “What was I supposed to tell Walter? I don't even want to imagine your mood if I had told him the truth.”  
  
She knew he knew that she had a point. He proved it when he switched topics. “Walter will keep looking into this?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Now Oliver pressed his lips together, hard, breaking eye-contact.  
  
“He said he discovered things that made him question everything about Moira,” Felicity told Oliver. “He said I was the only one he trusted. He wanted my help to tell you about the wreck.”  
  
“The wreck that's gone.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
That was the drop that caused his anger to spill. Curling his hands into fits, he slammed them down to the table with a loud bang just once, making Felicity flinch. The rattling metal continued to echo as Oliver straightened up again. He breathed deliberately, avoiding Felicity's eyes as the sound died away.  
  
“Oliver,” she said softly and walked over to where he was busy calming himself down. “We'll figure this out.”  
  
“How?!” He asked, his eyes snapping to hers. “We've been trying for weeks! And we’ve found NOTHING!”  
  
“I know,” she said and stopped directly in front of him, bringing her hand to his cheek. “But now somebody stole a boat. That has to leave a trail. That's why I asked you to bring me here after work. I’ll check the surveillance system by the docks and try to find out when the wreck was taken. Okay?”  
  
Slowly, Oliver nodded. “Okay.” Seriousness returned to his eyes. “We need to do something about Walter. What he's doing is dangerous.”  
  
She let her hand drop from his cheek. “What’s your plan?”  
  
“The Hood will pay him a visit and have a very pointed conversation.”  
  
“You will not manage to scare Walter into doing what you want him to do.”  
  
“That remains to be seen.”  
  
“Fine,” Felicity said, turning around to walk to her desk. “Do what you must, but expect a heartfelt ‘I told you so.’ And you'll have to push the intimidating back until Monday. Walter's in New York over the weekend for a conference.”  
  
“Fine,” Oliver growled and in one forceful movement ripped his sweater over his head. Bare-chested, he turned back to her. “Talking about the weekend: you'll take tomorrow off from work.”  
  
About to sit down on her seat, Felicity stopped in mid-movement. “I will?”  
  
“You will.”  
  
“No. I won't.”  
  
“That's not up for debate.”  
  
He had to be fucking kidding her! Annoyance written all over her face, she straightened up again. “I don't know why you think you have the right to tell me what to do, but you _don't_. In general. And especially not when it comes to my company.”  
  
“Felicity, you've been working non-stop ever since the cyber-attack,” he reasoned. “You need to give yourself a break.”  
  
“I will give myself a break when the new software’s running.” She shook her head before he could even open his mouth. “No! You don't get to boss me around. That's not the kind of marriage… partnership… agreement—” Damn it!  
  
Her wording caused all her righteous anger to escape her. Because it felt weird to talk about marriage to a guy she had only started kissing without second-guessing herself two days ago. She felt caught for using that word and she could see on his face that he had noticed. Why couldn't something, for once, be simple?  
  
Still, Felicity knew one thing: she had to put her foot down before he believed he could call the shots in this _whatever_ they called it. She couldn't let him get away with that, couldn’t let him get the impression it was even remotely okay to boss her around.  
  
“It's my decision whether I'll go to work tomorrow or not. I know when I need a break and when I need to work.”  
  
“You asked me to go easy on working out, too.”  
  
“Exactly. I _asked_ you. I wasn't like: you will go easy on the training and this is not up for debate.”  
  
They stared at each other.  
  
Finally, Oliver sighed. Slowly, he came over to where she stood. “Felicity, there are two reasons why I'd appreciate it if you granted yourself a free Saturday. One is that you're exhausted. You're wearing yourself down. With Firestorm, with what you're doing here. I didn't need Kristina calling me today to notice that. But she did call and she did remind me that I have to look out for you. And not only by getting you ‘scary’ bodyguards. And she's right. So, please, sleep in tomorrow, lounge around the apartment, read those gossip magazines you're hiding under the couch cushions, and go to dinner with me, because after going easy on my training I'm taking an evening off, too.”  
  
“You know about the magazines?” She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “I only read them _sometimes_. Like, barely ever. Because I know what it's like to be gossiped about and be followed by paparazzi and it would be really hypocritical of me to complain about that all the time and then buy—” Her face twisted. “Damn it! I'm a horrible person—and I really ruined this, because the magazines were not the most important thing about what you just said.”  
  
A smile slid onto Oliver's face. “You're a wonderful person,” he corrected her. “Will you, please, take tomorrow off?”  
  
“I will if you give me the second reason.”  
  
“Tak has a date tonight, and he begged me to keep you from going to the office tomorrow because he'd feel guilty if he let you work alone.”  
  
Felicity stared at him for a few moments. “Seriously?”  
  
“Seriously.” Oliver smirked and leaned in to her. “And I promise: next time I'll ask and not order.”  
  
“Because I won't let myself be ordered.”  
  
“Yes.” He kissed her. “I got that.”  
  
He sent her another small smile headed toward his workout-area, grabbing the rod to the salmon ladder on the way.  
  
Felicity watched him position himself under the archaic-looking frame and let her eyes linger as he jumped up to place the rod in the first bar. The clanking of metal hitting metal rang through the Foundry as she watched his muscles work, flexing in his arms, his stomach. She might not know what to call their relationship-status exactly, but she knew that, whatever the title, it allowed her to take a good look. And, damn, it was a nice sight. She gave herself a few more moments to appreciate him before she turned to her own desk. It was time to find that missing boat.  
  
  
**January 5 th 2013**  
  
There was no sign of that missing boat.  
  
All Felicity had found after searching for three hours was a gap in the security footage. Felicity had hacked traffic cameras surrounding the roads leading away from the docks, looking for a vehicle that was big enough to transport a shipwreck, but she had come up empty.  
  
The big nothing that welcomed her everywhere she looked was infuriating. And extremely worrying, because it proved that whoever had taken the leftovers of the yacht really knew what they were doing and were serious about covering their tracks.  
  
All of that had made her feel like she really shouldn't take the next day off.  
  
She had done it anyway.  
  
Just so Tak could thorough enjoy his date with Christopher, of course.  
  
She hadn't set the alarm the evening before. Still, Felicity had awoken around six-thirty as she did every morning. Oliver had been there, awake. Gently brushing his lips against her temple, he had whispered “go back to sleep.” That had seemed like one order Felicity didn't have to argue with. It had been ten a.m., when she had opened her eyes again. Understandably, Oliver had been gone by then, but he had been right: she needed this day off.  
  
It had continued with a bath – she hadn't had one of those in a really, really long time – and an extended breakfast. She had even skipped her morning jog—that's how off her day off was. It was awesome.  
  
The note Oliver left on the mirror in the hall told Felicity that he had gone to meet the family lawyers. He seriously wanted to go through with this stupid idea to buy their building – all twenty-one stories of it – for the simple fact that the house committee wasn't happy about adding more security guards. But Felicity knew that was a battle she wouldn't win and, ultimately, she didn't care. In fact, if the building was Oliver's, she planned on telling Mrs. Schumaker to place her giant fertility statue in the lobby. Just to spite Mrs. McKenna.  
  
Apparently, Mrs. McKenna had one thing in common with Moira Queen: she brought Felicity's inner teenager to the surface.  
  
Felicity lounged on her couch, flipping through the gossip magazine that summed up the ultimate scandals and “celebrity news” of 2012. It had been a good year in gossip: Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise had split, which had ended with Katie and Suri being spotted in the subway. Kristen Stewart had cheated on Robert Pattinson, which had ended with them not splitting until _Twilight_ -promotion was done with. Oliver Queen was found on an island in the North China Sea, which ended with him being reunited with his wife. The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge revealed their first pregnancy, which was still a work in progress because the announcement had only been made in December.  
  
It was the first time Felicity dared to look at the pictures of herself and Oliver taken at his welcome home party. Of course, she also had to try to ignore the wedding picture that was also printed next to the article. That one was really bad. But the red carpet picture was kind of nice, actually. Now that she compared the two photos, taken five years apart, she saw how much she and Oliver had changed. It was really hard to miss: the years that had passed and taken the softness of innocence out of both their features.  
  
Oliver sure looked different: the short cut instead of the the long side fringe, the beard growing where soft skin had been, the seriousness replacing the ever-present, easy smile. The change was right there, obvious in his looks, but most of all Felicity could see it in his eyes. Maybe it was because she knew, because she had an idea how much the last five years had changed him, but she saw it: the experiences made, the trials passed, the terrors survived. His were worse than hers, of course, but she could also see the growth by experience in her own eyes. That young brunette in that pink blouse and the black pencil shirt was nothing but a distant memory. Felicity had grown out of her. The night the unflattering picture had been taken was when the last bits of innocence were shed.  
  
It was an undeniable fact: that night had changed her life. But as she looked at the pictures and dared to let herself dwell on how the changes had occurred – which she normally never allowed herself to do – she realized that she was okay with what she had become. She also liked the Oliver of the present much more than the Ollie of the past. Oliver had some serious issues, she knew, but she didn't mind, because they made him Oliver and she cared about that guy.  
  
She might have married Ollie, but she was falling in love with Oliver, more and more each day.  
  
So whatever issues he dragged along with him, she would deal with them, because she had her own issues that he had to handle.  
  
“Mrs. Queen, I’m done for today.”  
  
Valentina's voice ripped Felicity out of her thoughts. Felicity looked across the back of the couch to Valentina Asimov, her housekeeper, who stood in the door frame and was sending her a small smile. “Thank you again for the beautiful Christmas gifts. It really wasn't necessary to—”  
  
Putting the magazine on the coffee table, Felicity got up from the couch. “No, Mrs. Asimov, it was more than necessary. You saved my Thanksgiving.”  
  
The older woman smiled. “Please, call me Valentina.”  
  
“I will, if you call me Felicity,” she countered and she moved toward her employee.  
  
“The scarf was really beautiful. Ekaterina already tried to steal it,” Valentina chuckled. “But I said 'No, what do you want with an old woman's scarf?' And she said, 'ма́ма, it's Hermes'.”  
  
Felicity smiled. “I'm glad you like it.”  
  
“But I wish you hadn't given Maxim the cigars. He loves them, but they smell horrible.”  
  
“Oh,” Felicity's face fell. “I'm sorry. Oliver suggested them—or Vodka, but I thought the latter was a bit cliché.”  
  
Valentina laughed. “Ne—”  
  
She didn't get any further. Her words were drowned out by loud banging sounds coming from right outside the apartment door. Felicity had heard that sound enough in the last three months to know that they were gunshots. She might recognize them, but that didn't mean that she was used to them. Frozen to the spot, Felicity’s head snapped toward the front door, but the lock was already flying away with an explosion that left nothing but a big hole.  
  
Like in trance, Felicity saw the door falling out of its frame, coming toward her after being kicked from his hinges.  
  
“Get in the bathroom and lock the door.” Valentina's steady voice ripped Felicity out of her trance. But instead of following the other woman's orders, Felicity turned to look at her and saw that she had pulled a gun from somewhere. Blinking stupidly, Felicity couldn't help but wonder where her housekeeper, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, had hidden the firearm—and why, the fuck, her housekeeper carried a firearm.  
  
Now Valentina squeezed the trigger, hitting the first man to cross the threshold squarely in the chest.  
  
“Felicity!”  
  
Valentina said her name in a way that spurred her into action. The blonde was already moving, following the Russian’s orders, when the thought occurred to her that she shouldn't leave the other woman alone to face an unknown number of attackers. But, by then, Felicity had already slammed the bedroom door shut, cursing herself for not ever having installed a lock—but, really, there had never been any need for that.  
  
The sound of more gunshots hit her ears from the other side of the door. Fighting down the urge to open it and check on Valentina – if anything happened to the mother of two teenagers, Felicity would never be able to forgive herself – she rushed across the room. She had only taken three steps when the door behind her banged against the wall soundly, leaving it to vibrate in its frame.  
  
“Don't make this any harder than it has to be!” A voice muffled by a ski mask told her, but Felicity had no intention to make this easy for him.  
  
She kept running, practically feeling the other man catch up with her. Entering the bathroom, she reached for the door to slam it shut—but instead it slammed into her. With the force of the man kicking it with the sole of his boot, the door hit Felicity in the face, splitting her eyebrow and making her tumble backwards. Trying to keep herself from falling to the floor, she reached for the sink.  
  
The masked man was already grabbing her, but Felicity brought her knee up, hoping to hit him where it hurt. This definitely wasn't one of the moves John had showed her during his self-defense lessons but, for the life of her, she couldn't remember one thing he had told her other than to distribute her weight evenly. So she tried the cliché kicking—and, of course, it failed. All she managed to do was make her attacker angry and his grip on her tightened. Spitting a cursed “whore” at her, he threw her to the left. Her shoulder connected with the mirror and it cracked under the force. He raised his fist, ready to bring it down onto her face, but he froze in mid-movement when a gunshot ripped through the room and the glass wall surrounding the shower burst into millions of tiny shards.  
  
“We need the bitch alive,” somebody said from behind the masked guy towering over her.  
  
The man whose fist was still raised answered from behind his woolen mask, “Don't worry. She'll survive this.”  
  
With that, he brought his fist down and her world went black.


	21. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. The last chapter ended rather abruptly…. So, let me thank you whole-heartedly for cliff-hanging with me. It’s been a pleasure [maybe only for me, but… ;) ] Your amazing reactions made me grin with glee. Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me. It's been aweseome. And I must admit that I’m excited to post this chapter. I really, really hope that you enjoy it.
> 
> The biggest thank you to **Albiona**. She checked this chapter extra quickly, making sure I could update. She's amazing like that and I'm grateful! [Luckily, she approved of this chapter - and one sentence in particular. ;) Thanks, Albi. ❤]
> 
> Okay, enough said. Let's get this show on the road - even if it's a little bloody.

**January 5 th 2013  
  
**Oliver Queen had signed a dotted line and now he was the semi-proud owner of his very own skyscraper. **  
  
** It wasn't the stupidest thing he had ever bought. There had been the old racehorse he had saved from the butcher to get that girl to put out when he was sixteen, and the nose job for that other girl when he was eighteen—boy, had her mother been furious... and his mother, too. He had been twenty when he had bought that strip club to throw Tommy a noteworthy twenty-first birthday party. **  
  
** Of course, nothing had been as expensive as buying that building, but all those other things had been for the heck of it, for fun. This purchase was necessary. Oliver didn't have the patience to explain his actions—in general, but especially not to people who had the time to join a house committee in a building that wasn't even theirs. He wanted to do what he knew was best and now he could. **  
  
** Walter had set the whole thing up in one day, which was impressive. His stepfather had called Oliver from New York late last night to tell him that the contract could be signed today if he still wanted to go through with the purchase. Walter had also dodged all of Oliver's questions regarding his trip to the warehouse with Felicity. Instead, Walter had only said that he approved of Oliver's choice to tighten security and that the agreement he had come to with the current owner was reasonable. **  
  
** The fact that Walter Steele was concerned enough to call a purchase “reasonable” that even Oliver knew was ridiculously overpriced was extremely worrying. **  
  
** He needed to have a talk with that man—maybe even without his hood. **  
  
** After buying a skyscraper right after breakfast, Oliver had driven to the Foundry to check the computer programs Felicity had started last night, in hopes to find a trace of the wreck. They had all come up empty. He had taken the next two hours to train his frustrations away, but it hadn't helped him relax. **  
  
** Oliver didn't know why he was so tense today – more tense than normal – but he had a strange feeling of foreboding. Felicity not answering her cellphone when he had called to tell her that she could tell Mrs. Schumaker about setting up her fertility-thing had caused his worries to spike. He had even called the landline, only for Valentina to tell him that Felicity was taking a bath—without her phone in reach.  
  
He felt like a fool. He was seeing things, blowing his worries out of proportion when all she was doing was following his request and relaxing. He needed to do the same, relax and calm down or he would only end up scaring Felicity over nothing. He didn't want to do that, he didn't want to cause her unnecessary fear. **  
  
** Instead, he wanted to do a normal thing for once and take her out to dinner. In the midst of everything that was happening, they needed one evening away from the Foundry, from training, from computers, from The Hood. Oliver needed to show her that he could do that, too, be normal—before the weekend was over and he'd hood up to threaten his stepfather into stopping his investigations. **  
  
** Contemplating if he needed to reserve a table at Bertinelli's or if he was fine with his name miraculously emptying a table, Oliver steered his bike onto the street where his new twenty-one storied purchase towered. All dinner plans vanished as he was suddenly faced with uncounted uniformed policemen. They were about to block the road, set up barriers, but Oliver had passed them before they could even think about telling him to stop. His dark suspicion was confirmed in the next moment: his building was the center of whatever was going on here. The barrier, the people gathering behind it, curious spectators and the first people with cameras – photo and TV alike – all of them concentrated around the place he and Felicity lived in. **  
  
** The foreboding was back instantly, stronger than ever. Oliver stopped his bike on the sidewalk in front of his home with squeaking breaks. An officer in uniform headed toward him, probably to tell him that he couldn't park there, but as Oliver took the helmet off, the other man backed off instantly. Signaling his colleagues that everything was okay, he nodded. “Mr. Queen.” **  
  
** There was something in this policeman's eyes that caused a shiver to run through Oliver. There was recognition in them, but it wasn't the usual recognition of money and power that came with the Queen-name. That Oliver was used to. This was different, darker with a hint of pity, and it made Oliver head into the building with quick, forceful steps that bordered on running. **  
  
** The state of the lobby turned his bad feeling to dread. **  
  
** The normally spotless white surfaces were splattered with red. Blood was collecting in a puddle, dripping down from the body draped over the gloss-polished white counter. Rafid Khouri. Oliver knew him—casually from walking past him for months and a little bit more closely from his background checks. Normally, Rafid took the nightshifts, because those were the highest paid. The concierge had two children and a third on the way, money was tight in the family, so he took any extra shifts he could get. **  
  
** Not slowing down, Oliver walked past the gruesome crime scene where men in white plastic suits started to place evidence tags. He headed toward the elevators and a woman, also wearing white and making notes on a clipboard. Coming closer Oliver saw that the elevator doors were open and a man lay inside, slumped against the back wall. Mr. Bernhard. Oliver didn't know much about him, apart from the fact that he was on the house committee and very much against spending money on security. **  
  
** The woman looked up from her writing. There it was again—that look. “You can take the other elevator,” she told him and pressed the button with her gloved finger. The doors opened instantly with a pling. “Oh,” was the woman's only reaction. **  
  
** Oliver only gave himself a short second to look at the dead body spread out in a lake of blood. This corpse was wearing a ski mask. **  
  
** His face twisting at the sight, Oliver shot around and ripped the door to the stairwell open. He ran up the fourteen floors, taking two steps at a time, never slowing down. Fear for the worst propelled him upward. Nearly aggressively he opened the door to their hall. **  
  
** Once he stepped onto the plush carpet his worst fear was confirmed. **  
  
** His breathing heavy, he walked toward the apartment he shared with Felicity, past the black body bag that a coroner was zipping shut, covering the unmoving, empty face of Vitali Tschenko. He had spilled his blood in the hall, the thick carpet had soaked the red up greedily. Oliver took a huge step over the spot that resembled spilled life and onto his front door lying flat on the ground. Another bloody spot welcomed him in the hall, collecting on the wooden floor. **  
  
** “Mr. Queen,” Detective Lance was standing in the main room, talking to his partner. **  
  
** “Where is she?” **  
  
** It was all Oliver could say, all he could think, all he needed to know. **  
  
** “We don't know.” Lance walked toward Oliver and in his eyes traces of compassion were visible. That really rattled Oliver: if even Lance was compassionate, things must be really bad. **  
  
** “You don't know?” Oliver repeated dangerously slowly. **  
  
** “We think she tried to lock herself in the bathroom,” the detective answered. “We think they took her.” **  
  
** Without another word, Oliver turned around. His back was straight, his movements were calculated, his body was filled with tension as he walked down the hall, into their room, past their still rumpled bed. His index finger connected with his thumb in a subconscious action as he took in the state of the bathroom: the cracked mirror, the shower enclosure in shards everywhere, Felicity's glasses laying on the ground. **  
  
** Her glasses. He stared as them, unmoving, for quite a few seconds. **  
  
** Carefully, he stepped into the room, the glass scratching under his brown shoes, and picked the glasses up. Turning around, he noticed a smear of blood on the inside of the door. **  
  
** Oliver had left any angry state far behind and was also way past being furious as his piercing blue eyes glided over the destruction around him. **  
  
** “Did anybody try to contact you for ransom?” **  
  
** Quentin Lance's voice demanded Oliver's attention. **  
  
** “No.” Oliver answered and walked out of his trashed bathroom into the bedroom where the detective stood. “When did this happen?” **  
  
** “Somebody called in a complaint about disorderly conduct almost one hour ago.” **  
  
** Disorderly conduct—that was one way to describe gunshots and shattering glass, Oliver thought as he slowly descended from the highs of paralyzed rage down to utter fury. His thumb started to brush over his index finger.  
  
“They took my wife.” **  
  
** It wasn't a question, but Lance answered anyway. “It looks like it. Witnesses reported a white van speeding away. We're searching for it. I requested the support of a kidnapping negotiator. I'm sure whatever sum they're asking for won't be a problem, will it?” **  
  
** The last sentence was spoken with so much passive aggression that Oliver couldn't help but inwardly wonder if the detective enjoyed seeing him like this, at the verge of losing somebody important, when he blamed Oliver for the loss of his youngest daughter. Pressing his lips together, Oliver kept the accusation in. After a second of mental calming, Oliver forced words past his lips. “It won't be.” **  
  
** Brushing past the detective, he moved to leave the bedroom. He felt his cell vibrate and took it out of his pocket. Seven missed calls: two by Kristina, one by Thea, one by his mother, and three by a number he knew belonged to Lance. **  
  
** “Anything important?” Lance asked, following him into the hall. **  
  
** “No kidnappers, if that's what you mean.” Oliver kept walking. **  
  
** “Mr. Queen,” a uniformed young girl called from the hall. “There's a Mr. Diggle downstairs who claims to be your bodyguard. Is he allowed to come up?” **  
  
** “No,” Oliver looked at the girl. “Tell him to wait in the garage, I'm on my way down.” There was no need for Diggle to walk up fourteen floors when they were about to leave for the Glades. **  
  
** “Where do you think you're going?” Lance asked. **  
  
** “Out.” **  
  
** “Hey,” Lance dared to step in front of Oliver, blocking his way to the front door. “Your wife's been kidnapped.” **  
  
** “I don't need to be told that,” Oliver snarled, barely keeping his rage in check. **  
  
** “Your place is here.” **  
  
** “To do _what_?” Oliver spat. “Look at my trashed bathroom? At the puddle of blood on the floor?” **  
  
** Lance motioned to the red spot on the floor. “That's from your housekeeper. She was shot in the chest. She was brought to Starling City General.” Lance crossed his arms over his chest. “By the way, why does your housekeeper carry a Smith & Wesson? Nine millimeter? Pro series?” **  
  
** And that man seriously wondered why Oliver had to get out of here! He took a step toward the detective and nearly got into his face. “You can ask her that if she survives.” **  
  
** Oliver brushed past him and walked out, ignoring Lance calling behind him, “Queen! QUEEN!” **  
  
** With force Oliver walked away from the detective and hurried down the stairs as fast as he could. When he ripped the door to the underground garage open, he saw John Diggle next to the Bentley. **  
  
** “They have Felicity,” he informed the soldier, his voice hard but heated with poorly suppressed rage. He motioned to the car, pressing the key for it to unlock. “Get in.” **  
  
** Diggle was already moving toward the passenger's seat when he asked, “What's your plan?” **  
  
** “To get my wife back!” **  
  
** ______________________________________ **  
  
  
** John Diggle had heard the news about police presence at the Queen home, followed by unconfirmed reports that Felicity Queen had been kidnapped. He had instantly come down to help. **  
  
** That was all Oliver needed to know. **  
  
** Standing in front of the security door leading to the Foundry, Oliver punched in the code and didn't think twice about revealing what lay behind to the man next to him. **  
  
** “I figured that your secret base was here after I followed Felicity here, twice.” **  
  
** His hand on a button, Oliver turned to look at the other man. **  
  
** “Don't be mad at her,” Diggle added. “I also followed you here once.” **  
  
** “I know.” Oliver said and finally pushed the door open. And really, he had known. Even though, he had to admit that he had nearly reached the factory before he had noticed the tail. John Diggle was seriously good. **  
  
** Together they walked down the stairs. Curiously, John Diggle let his eyes sweep over the surroundings – the workbench, the workout area, the displayed equipment – while Oliver walked to Felicity's desk. Diggle positioned next to him as Oliver typed in the password, banging his fingers down to the keys. **  
  
** “What are you doing?” Diggle asked. **  
  
** The vibration in his voice showed how much Oliver was pulling himself together. His answer was less actually formulated words and more pressed out sounds. “Finding Felicity.” **  
  
** “You put a tracer on her?” **  
  
** “I did.” One she hadn’t taken off since he had given it to her. He just hoped it was still in place and working and within reach. **  
  
** His hands flexing and clenching, Oliver waited for the map to load, tautness surrounding him. He couldn't sit and wait, he had to get up. Forcefully, he shoved against the back-friendly chair he had gotten Felicity and walked around the table in a wide circle. He was strained and jumpy and with each second that passed, a certain amount with fear mixed with the anger and tore at his insides. **  
  
** What if he was too late? What if he had lost her now, when he finally had her? What if he had failed her? **  
  
** “She's in Bludhaven,” Diggle, taken position in front of the keyboard, observed as the map finally appeared on the screen. “Looks like a tenement complex,” he added as Oliver rushed to stand behind him. **  
  
** “Pull up the satellite view,” Oliver ordered. **  
  
** Diggle needed a moment to familiarize himself with the programs before he clicked on one and typed in an address. Then he snorted. “That's a lot of security for low-income housing. There are two guards at each access point.” He turned to look at Oliver. “That means they're watching over somebody. That's good news.” **  
  
** Oliver nodded, but his eyes were glued to the image on screen, trying to decide on the smartest way to enter the premises. **  
  
** “There's only one guard on the roof,” the soldier observed. **  
  
** That was true. It would be a good way to enter, but, “There're no other buildings in this area. If I want to get on the roof, I need to jump off of something.” **  
  
** John Diggle turned to look at him. “I can get you something.” **  
  
** “Quickly?” **  
  
** “Yes.” **  
  
** Oliver nodded. “Do it.” He had no time to waste. **  
  
** _____________________________ **  
  
  
** His body was vibrating with anger, but his movements were precise. Finally, he could work off some of his fury, he could do something, snap into action, make somebody pay. After he jumped out of the stealth plane John Diggle had organized – the A.R.G.U.S. logo on the side had caught Oliver by surprise – and quietly entered the run-down building, Oliver hadn't cared about being noticed. Much the opposite: he wanted them to notice, he wanted them all to come, so that he could bash their head in, take them all down, lure them to him and away from wherever Felicity was. **  
  
** The actual fight was a blur of well-trained actions: bones were broken, arrows were shot, heads were crashed into concrete walls, gunshots were evaded, and after only two minutes the hallway was filled with enemies taken out. **  
  
** Only then did it hit him that that had been his first fight since he had lost to the other archer. Seems like he had simply needed the right motivation to get back into the fight. **  
  
** He continued through the building carefully, expecting an enemy to pop up at any moment. But none came, instead he suddenly found himself in front of a metal door. He couldn't help but be uneasy about what might await him behind that door, what he might find. The idea that Felicity wasn't here and the image of the state she might be in were equally uncomfortable. He pushed the old-fashioned lock back and opened the heavy door. **  
  
** Relief flooded him instantly. She was sitting on a dirty cot, her comfy clothes stained by the blood from her burst open lip and the nasty split in her eyebrow. Her face was bloody, her jaw was starting to bruise. But, as her eyes settled on him, slightly squinting without her glasses, he could see the fear vanish and be replaced by relief. **  
  
** He saw that she was about to shake off the surprise, get off the cot, and rush into his arms, so he quickly reached to activate the voice modulator she had gotten him. “Mrs. Queen.” There was a slight quiver in his voice, he could hear it despite the changes the computer program made. He couldn't help it. All he could do was hope that nobody else noticed, because Oliver knew that there were cameras everywhere. **  
  
** He saw understanding cross her face and how much it strained her to keep her composure. It tore at Oliver, but The Hood was firmly rooted a few steps away from her by the door. “SCPD is on the way,” he said. Diggle had called them when The Hood had entered the building. “It's time to go home. I'm sure your husband's worried.” **  
  
** He was saying too much, but he couldn't help it. **  
  
** Felicity nodded. “Thank you.” **  
  
** Oliver wished he could hug her to him, but The Hood simply gave her one sharp nod; it was time to get out of here. **  
  
** ___________________________________ **  
  
  
** Twenty-five missed called waited for him when he climbed into the backseat of the Bentley. He had already changed and stored his secret suit in a duffle bag. Diggle had come as close to the tenement as he had dared. There was no way that a car like the Bentley would go unnoticed in a neighborhood like that. **  
  
** Kristina, Thea, his mother, Walter, and Yongtak had all tried to reach him multiple times. Even Tommy had called once. He debated calling them back – calling at least Thea back – when his phone rang again. He knew that number: Detective Lance wanted to inform him that they had found Felicity. She was on her way to Starling City General. **  
  
** Diggle was already driving there when Oliver hung up and decided that, with that destination, Kristina should be the first person he called. **  
  
** Twenty too long minutes later, he hurried down the brightly lit hospital hall toward the room number the nurse had given him. It was hard to miss, with the two policemen positioned in front of it, but they quickly stepped out of the way and one of them even opened the door for Oliver. He entered the huge hospital room, fit for a Queen, followed by John Diggle. **  
  
** Instantly, Oliver's eyes connected with Felicity's. She sat on the bed, her legs dangling down the side, still dressed in her bloodstained clothes. Her whole jaw was turning purple, Oliver believed he could even see the spots where the knuckles had connected with her skin. The nasty cuts in her eyebrow and her lip had already been cleaned. A woman in green scrubs was getting ready to sew the split in her eyebrow, but she let the needle drop as she saw who entered. Stepping back, she made way for Oliver. **  
  
** “Oliver,” Felicity breathed and that word seemed to be the one to break her resolve. **  
  
** He saw her face crumble as the first tears fell. He crossed the room in two huge steps and pulled her to his chest, hugging her to him, while her arms closed around him and her tears wetted his sweater. “I got you,” was all he whispered, while he held on to her, tightly. His right hand tangled in her hair, holding the back of her head, enjoying the feeling of having her close and safe in his arms, of finally being able to comfort her. An unbearable weight was lifted. He felt like he could breathe again for the first time in hours. His relief made him feel lighter, but his hold of her didn’t loosen. He placed a kiss on top of her head and heard the door open and close behind him. He was alone with Felicity. **  
  
** “Hey,” he said softly, letting go the barest bit to look at her. He watched her wipe tears away before blinking up at him with red eyes. His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushed her skin. “Are you okay?” **  
  
** It was a stupid question, but he needed to know. “Yeah,” Felicity's voice was weak. “I'm fine. But I lost my glasses, I think.” **  
  
** Hearing that, Oliver reached into his jacket pocket and got her glasses out. He had picked them up from the floor of the bathroom and pocketed them without thinking. “They're fine,” he assured her. “I'll keep them safe for you until you're all stitched up, okay?” **  
  
** Felicity nodded and more tears fell, because, of course, she wasn't okay. How could she be? Oliver cradled her to him again and held her until he heard her ask against his chest. “How did you find me so quickly?” **  
  
** The possibility that she would freak wasn't small, he knew, but he had to tell her. He let go, sat down next to her on the bed, and cradled her right hand in both of his. “The ring,” he said and left it at that. **  
  
** As he dared to meet her eyes he saw understanding in them—and traces of disappointment. **  
  
** He let go of her hand and slipped the ring off her finger. “You wanted to know what it means. It's a promise; my promise to always be there when you need me, to protect you, to honor and cherish you, only you.” He met her gaze. “It's also my peace of mind.” He smiled softly. “Do you understand?” **  
  
** “I do.” **  
  
** His smile turned a little stronger, his eyes softened in his emotion ridden face, and he slipped the ring into place on her left hand—where it belonged. **  
  
** _______________________________ **  
  
  
** Flexing his hand, Oliver left the hospital room. More things he had learned about Felicity tonight: she had a steel grip and, apparently, strongly disliked needles or, as she had told him, “all pointy things,” which indeed was kind of ironic. Now that her wounds were sown up and bandaged she could leave, she only had to sign some paperwork and Oliver wanted to get a nurse so that they could be done with that. He was eager to get out of here, even though he knew that their apartment was a mess. Maybe they could stay at a hotel for one night, just so that he could organize somebody to clean up and remove all reminders of what had happened in their home. **  
  
** If he was honest, that would be for his sake as much as for Felicity's. Because he really didn't need to be reminded that he had failed to keep her safe. He had broken his promise a few days after giving it. **  
  
** That reminded him: he needed to call Alexi Leonov and show his respect. Vitali Tschenko died protecting Felicity this afternoon and Valentina Asimov was somewhere between life and death. Oliver had already talked to the Asimov family and, more importantly, to a doctor, waving his name and a possible donation in front of his face, making sure that Valentina got the best care possible. **  
  
** A hotel was a better option than Queen Mansion. Neither Thea nor his mother were happy with him right now. Both of them, as well as Kristina, had told him off for disappearing when Felicity had been kidnapped. His excuse that he had needed to be alone hadn't been well-received—especially Tina had given him a piece of her mind, which could be summed up to the single threat against going MIA when times got rough and Felicity needed him to be there. He had nodded and promised never to do that. **  
  
** Sighing, he walked toward the main counter when he passed a waiting area. John Diggle got up from an uncomfortable-looking plastic chair. **  
  
** “Digg.” Oliver walked toward the man who had helped without being asked. “Thank you.” It was all he could think of saying, but it needed to be said. **  
  
** Slowly, John Diggle nodded. “Of course. Is she okay?” **  
  
** “Yes, they patched her up, we can leave as soon as I find somebody for the paperwork.” **  
  
** Thoughtfully, the soldier looked at him. “I thought about what you said. And you might have a point: this city needs saving. Fighting for this city needs to be done, and you're gonna do this with or without me.” **  
  
** Slowly, Oliver nodded. **  
  
** “Just to be clear, I'm not signing on to be a sidekick.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Diggle settled a tight look on Oliver. “But with me there'll be fewer casualties, including Felicity—and you.” **  
  
** “Diggle,” Oliver said calmly, meeting the other man's eyes. “I'm not looking for anybody to save me.” **  
  
** “Maybe not, but you need help. From somebody other than your wife who's too close to you to see some things.” Diggle moved closer to him. “You are fighting a war, Queen, except you have no idea what war does to you, how it scrapes off little pieces of your soul.” **  
  
** “I thought you said I wasn't a soldier,” Oliver cut in. **  
  
** “That's the problem, Queen. You're not. You're not following orders, you're making up your own rules and you have to live with everything you do.” The men looked at each other for a second before Diggle continued talking. “But I've been in the field. That's why I'm not your sidekick, but I'll help you fight for this city and find out whatever's going on with your family that's getting your wife kidnapped.” **  
  
** John Diggle held his hand out. **  
  
** Oliver knew that shaking it meant agreeing the other man's terms. He knew he would get very capable help, but it came in the form of a very opinionated man who would challenge Oliver and his actions. A man who had organized a stealth plane in twenty minutes from a top secret military organization that very few people even knew about. A man who had snapped into action to help him get to Felicity as quickly as possible. **  
  
** Meeting John Diggle eyes, Oliver clasped his hand and nodded. Those were things Oliver could more than live with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am prepared for all your "I knew it"s regarding the tracker. Bring it on! ;)


	22. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am running out of ways to tell you how amazing you are. Thank you all very much for the love you’re sending my way in various forms. I am in awe that so many of you are so invested in this story and the “universe” I created. [All the love for Valentina really made my day!] I’ll give it my all to keep you entertained, I promise, because I feel like that's the only way I can adequately thank you! :)
> 
> I know it will turn my into the weird cat-lady of this fandom, but I haven’t watched the promo yet. I know. I’m weird with my strange dislike of spoilers. In the spirit of that: from here on out Oliver’s “island”-time will be discussed, that includes all aired flashbacks as well as some absolutely unfounded speculations which might be completely off but fit the plot of this story.
> 
> All my love to **Albiona**. She's so very patient with me and my lacking grammar. I am honestly grateful. *hugs* 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter and its slightly changed dynamic. *fingers crossed* ❤

**January 9 th, 2013  
  
**Felicity Queen wasn’t only married to the resident vigilante, but also to a captain in the Russian Mafia. **  
  
** Talk about a rock and a hard place. **  
  
** Strangely, the latter had left her even more uncomfortable than the first. **  
  
** It also came with obligations. Obligations like keeping up appearances and accompanying her husband to official functions. **  
  
** Apparently, when it came to the mob, funerals were an official function. **  
  
** Never had Felicity been more thankful for Moira’s relentless social drilling than the morning she attended Vitali Tschenko’s funeral. She knew that she should feel guilty for Vitali dying while protecting her – and she did, seeing his wife cry in the first row broke her heart – but at the same time Felicity couldn’t help but look around with huge eyes and think how big of a cliché all of this was. It was like a bad movie: the dark glasses, the golden bracelets dangling from male wrists, the expensive fur draped over female shoulders, the brotherly kisses, the hand gestures, the Vodka that was drunk as if it were water out of huge glasses after the funeral. **  
  
** Oliver managed to empty hers into a nearby plant without anybody noticing. **  
  
** A new, full one was placed in front of her within minutes with a heartfelt compliment to Oliver for having a woman able to hold her liquor. **  
  
** That compliment had been a little premature. **  
  
** As Felicity walked back to the car she was really swaying on her stilettos. “First time I ever lived it up at a funeral—seems like the Russians have it all figured out.” **  
  
** Oliver’s arm was firmly placed around her to keep her from stumbling. He chuckled. “Glad you approve.” **  
  
** “I know I shouldn’t. I don’t.” She stopped and forced him to halt, too. “I don’t think I can do that again,” she admitted. “I don’t have a mob wife in me. I don’t even own a fur coat. There was a lot of sable and mink in there. And that’s a deal breaker. Fur, I mean. I don’t think I can pull that off. And I honestly don’t want to.” **  
  
** Oliver looked way too amused as he nodded agreement. “That’s okay.” Holding on to her elbow, steadying her, he turned serious. “I would have preferred if you never had contact with any of them. But with everything that’s happened, I kind of ended up in their debt and we needed to make nice.” **  
  
** “You’re indebted to the mob?” Drunkenly, she blinked, trying to come up with something clever to say about that. She had nothing. At least nothing clever, only the truth. “As if our list of things to worry about wasn’t long enough already.” Exaggeratedly, she let her shoulders sag and sighed. “You’ll never let me go anywhere alone ever again, will you?” **  
  
** “Felicity.” He was using his strict voice, she realized. She knew that when this certain tone entered his voice he was serious. “You’d been kidnapped.” **  
  
** “I know that, Oliver,” she answered, using her annoyed voice because she really didn’t need to be reminded of that. Every time she looked in the mirror the very colorful reminder was right there in the form of her purple jaw, which she also felt every time she opened her mouth. Chewing was still out of the question, so she had lived on nothing but soup for days—which was probably one of the reasons why the Vodka had hit her so hard.  
  
Her jaw, the bruises, and the pain weren’t the only reminders—and not the worst ones. Every time Oliver looked at her she saw guilt in his eyes, as if he was to blame. Nothing she said helped easing his conscience; he only closed off more when she told him it wasn’t his fault. He had kept himself somewhat distant since the day of the kidnapping—and she hated that.  
  
Her serious reasoning hadn’t helped the situation or Oliver’s conscience at all; so Felicity had given up being serious about this. She motioned to the stitches above her left eye which she knew would end up scarring. “My eyebrow will probably never be the same.” **  
  
** He wasn’t impressed with this tactic either, she could see that. He stressed the fact by tugging on her elbow, making her move again, across the parking lot. Diggle was already standing next to the Bentley, waiting for them. Oliver had insisted that their bodyguard drove them here, claiming that it was a necessary part of his image. Felicity couldn’t shake off the feeling that Oliver simply didn’t like driving a car himself. If he wanted to go anywhere, he took his deathtrap on two wheels. **  
  
** “I’m just saying,” Felicity insisted, not willing to let this go. “Do you know what it’s like to go to your gyno with a bodyguard?” **  
  
** “Can’t say I do,” Oliver admitted. **  
  
** “It’s awkward.” **  
  
** “I hope Diggle stayed in the waiting room,” Oliver said, clearly teasing. **  
  
** Felicity couldn’t help but feel like he wasn’t taking her seriously. Because, of course, John hadn’t entered the doctor’s office with her, but the whole thing had been bad enough as it was. “I’m serious here, Oliver. I can’t be watched _all_ the time. It’s freaking me out. I need some alone time. I need to be able to go to work without you driving me. If I get to work with helmet hair one more time, I’ll—” **  
  
** “Felicity, I know I promised I’d ask and not order, but that’s an exception. You walking around town alone is not up for debate. We have no clue who’s behind the kidnapping. Or where the boat is. Or the archer. Bratva really isn’t a problem. But all of these things are.” **  
  
** “Wow, when the mob’s the least of your problems, you have it bad.” **  
  
** “Exactly, and now that discussion is over.” **  
  
** “What discussion?” Diggle asked as they joined him at the Bentley, but almost instantly understanding became visible on the soldier’s face. “Let me guess, Felicity’s complaining again about the constant supervision.” He looked at her. “Oliver’s right.” **  
  
** Seriously, when had those two become BFFs?! Ever since the kidnapping, John had been around and the men had somehow clicked, fallen into a rhythm of training and discussing strategies and ganging up on her and making her feel helpless—which she _hated_. Especially since she hadn’t been able to do anything but fail to run from the people who had crashed into her home. **  
  
** Seeing the look on her face, John’s expression softened a little. “Believe me, I could have gone without going to the woman’s doctor with you.” **  
  
** “Yeah, I guess next time it’s better if you stay in the waiting room.”  
  
Biting back a stupid grin, Felicity got into the Bentley. The look on Oliver’s face – and John’s – was absolutely priceless. Served them right.  
  
  
  
**January 11 th, 2013**  
  
The nightmares revealed themselves in Felicity’s breathing.  
  
The first night after the kidnapping, lying in the king size bed of the Four Seasons’ penthouse suite, Felicity had jerked awake with a startled scream, drenched in sweat. Since then, Oliver had learned to read the way she breathed, had come to notice the slightest change that indicated distress. Sometimes placing a calming hand on Felicity’s shoulder was enough to soothe her, as if recognizing his touch, even in her unconscious state, calmed her down.  
  
Tonight wasn’t one of those nights. The way Felicity brought air into her lungs turned more and more audible, more and more forceful, and he knew he had no choice. Gently, he brought the back of his hand to her face. Stroking her cheek, he roused her, pulling her away from the kidnapping she was reliving. He had asked her to tell him about it, to give him a detailed description in hopes that talking about it would help.  
  
It hadn’t.  
  
All it managed to do was increase the guilt tearing at Oliver. He had let it happen. He had failed her.  
  
Pushing those thoughts away, he refocused on Felicity. She stirred against him and suddenly her eyes snapped open with a frightened gasp.  
  
“Hey,” he assured in a tender whisper. “I’m here. You’re safe. You’re home. I’m here.”  
  
Wordlessly, she turned to him, reaching for him and snuggling into his body. Closing his arms around her, he cradled her against him, his right caressing the back of her head. “It’s okay,” he stressed and added after a moment of hesitation, “Want to talk about it?”  
  
She shook her head against him. “No.”  
  
Accepting her decision, he kissed the top of her head. “Okay.” He was perfectly fine with holding her until she slipped back into sleep. His left hand rubbed soothing circles on her back, moving over the thin cloth of her tank top. For several minutes they simply lay there. Silence settled over them, the moon shining in through the huge windows of their bedroom. Feeling Felicity’s warmth against him, he enjoyed the moment that was just them. His eyes closed as he got lost in feeling her closeness, in comforting her. They opened when he felt Felicity’s mouth on his skin. He had believed her to be close to sleep, instead she kissed his chest, slowly covering it with open mouthed kisses until she let her tongue draw a hot line toward his nipple to nibble it. A contented sigh escaped his lips.  
  
“You smell so nice.” There was a quiver in her voice. “It’s good that your vanilla phase is over.” He chuckled slightly and slipped his hand under her tank top while she continued talking, “I can’t even describe it, it’s just so very you. Perfect aphrodisiac. If we could bottle and sell it we’d be rich… or… richer. Even though, maybe this only works on me. Would you, please, stop me from talking?”  
  
Another chuckle was his answer—and compliance. “Of course.” His fingertips ghosted up her spine. “You feel good,” he rasped into her ear. Her only reaction was a nod against his chest. He loved that his touch had the ability to make her forget words.  
  
The hitching in Felicity’s breath was all positive and most welcome. Her mouth continued its exploring southward, licking around his bellybutton while her fingers caressed his abs, but he kept her from scooping further down. Feeling the need to put her first, to make _her_ feel better and forget her bad dream, he made her roll onto her back, crawled over her and touched his lips to hers for a deep kiss. His hands explored her body, trailed under her top, over her belly and to her breasts, cupping, caressing them, playing with her nipples, rolling them between his fingers while his lips left her mouth to suck on her neck.  
  
She arched her back, giving him room to push her top up and bare her breasts to his wet mouth. He took his time caressing them until he kissed his way south. Finally, he slid her panties down. From his position between her legs, he looked up at her and took her in: lying on the bed, watching him, her mouth opened, her eyelids heavy, her eyes filled with desire he had built within her. And right in this moment he could ignore the bruise on her jaw that not even the moonlight could conceal. “You look beautiful,” he told her softly. The corners of his mouth tugging upward, he added, “And you taste so good.”  
  
He knew she wanted to say something, but all that left her lips was a moan vibrating from deep within her as he brought his mouth home. Using tongue, teeth, lips, he pleasured her. It didn’t take long for her to flex her legs, bring her ass off the mattress, trying to push herself against his teasing tongue. But his arm slid around her, locking her in place, denying her the quick release she craved. A groan that was equal parts annoyance and appreciation hit his ears and he smiled against her. He looked up to find her watching him through barely opened eyelids. She was biting her lower lip. Her hands flew to his head, and then she gasped, “Please.”  
  
Hearing her say that one word, sparked his own need and chased the thought of taking his time away. He closed his mouth around her pleasure spot and sucked. She came undone nearly instantly. Tensing, her breath caught in her throat, her thighs shook against him while her face showed an expression of pure bliss. She was exquisite in her ecstasy, it was a sight of beauty to him.  
  
He gave her time to ride out her orgasm, waiting until her hands untangled from his hair. Kissing his way back up her body, he rested over her, between her still opened legs and positioned himself at her entrance. This time he let her move her hips toward him. Slowly, he slid into her, nestling into position.  
  
Despite their exploring of each other’s bodies in the previous days, being inside her was still a new, nearly overwhelming sensation. He needed to just enjoy it for a moment, but Felicity deliberately clenching her muscles around him ended that plan. He groaned, his eyes closing involuntarily. Opening them again, he found a small smile playing around the corners of her lips while she continued to work her muscles around him. Not moving wasn’t even an option. He pulled out and ground back into her, filling her. Another sigh of utter contentment fell from his lips. Moving inside her, his right hand slid down her leg to the hollow of her knee and brought it to his hip. His grunt mixed with her moan as he entered her deeper, hoping he could bring her to fulfillment a second time. But he was so close already, his thrusts turned a bit more frantic with each jerk of his hips. She seemed to sense his struggle and made the decision for him: her walls gripped him perfectly just as he buried himself inside her. It was too much perfection to hold back. He tumbled over the edge, pleasure raced through him, forcing her name as an overwhelmed whisper from his lips.  
  
It took him a moment until he could open his eyes again and meet her smiling and content ones. She pulled him down for a kiss he had to break too quickly so he could catch his breath. She smiled up at him, her hand finding his ear shell and caressing it. “That,” she said in a slightly deeper than usual voice, “was way better than talking.”  
  
All he could do was nod.  
  
“And that says a lot, coming from me.” Felicity continued. “I mean, look who’s talking about talking. Or not talking.”  
  
He chuckled. She really was remarkable. **  
  
  
  
January 16 th, 2013  
  
**Oliver never would have thought he’d walk those halls again. He really could have gone without this unexpected return. It was an awkward flashback and another one of those moments when everything was exactly as he remembered while it felt decidedly different. But this strange sense of déjà-vu was probably natural. **  
  
** You didn’t need to spend five years away from civilization to know it’d be awkward to return to your old high school. **  
  
** Walking past the long rows of lockers, he felt warped back in time. The smell – a mixture of cleaning products, cold sweat, and teenage hormones – triggered old memories. The last time he strode these halls he had acted as if he’d owned them, he had felt like he did. He had probably dropped a hint about the fact that his father could buy those halls if he wanted.  
  
To the right was the door to the library, which he only remembered entering to make out with Laurel. The biology section had been way in the back. Oliver had felt so very clever, dropping hints about the fact that he was studying Laurel’s biology. **  
  
** Oliver knew exactly where he was supposed to go, because he had been there uncounted times before. Back then he had felt very differently than he did now. **  
  
** The room also looked different. Oliver didn’t know why he was surprised. A private school that cost as much as this one probably had to redecorate regularly to please their wealthy clientele. Strangely, the woman behind the counter was still the same. Her brown hair had turned grey, there were more wrinkles created by frowning and laughing alike, but the burning gaze was unmistakable. **  
  
** “Mrs. Bell,” Oliver greeted. **  
  
** “Oliver Queen. Never thought I’d see you again.” **  
  
** The feeling was mutual. He swallowed that remark and every other thing he could have answered, because he wasn’t in the mood. “I’m here to pick up my sister.” **  
  
** “Yes, she’s with the nurse.” **  
  
** The sentence made Oliver tense. His mother hadn’t said anything about Thea being sick. She had only said that the school had called and asked for somebody to come and get her. And since his mother had an important meeting at QC she had asked him to take over. That was why he was here, frowning at Mrs. Bell and asking, “The nurse?” **  
  
** “Apparently, your sister caught a stomach bug.” The secretary’s tone made it clear that she had her doubts about that diagnosis, but just gestured toward the door. “The nurse’s office is down—” **  
  
** “I remember.” Even though he added a quick, “Thank you,” Oliver wasn’t in the mood to be polite. Without another word he left the office and walked down the hall. **  
  
** The medical room was modern and perfectly equipped as well, but this time Oliver didn’t take the time to check his surroundings: his eyes landed on his sister instantly. Pale as paper, she sat on a cot, holding on to a waste bin. The smell that lingered in the air was familiar. Last time he had smelled it, Felicity had been holding his sister’s hair back in their second bathroom. Apparently, Mrs. Bell’s skepticism was well founded, because that stomach bug was obviously self-inflicted. **  
  
** Thea managed to sway while sitting. She looked at him with glossy and unfocused eyes. “Ollie, what’cha doin’ here?” **  
  
** “Taking you home.” He turned to the nurse walking toward him. “I assume that’s okay.” **  
  
** “Of course, Mr. Queen.” She smiled at him and tugged her black hair back behind her ear in a deliberate gesture. “Your sister ate something that didn’t agree with her, she just needs rest.” The smile was accentuated by a fluttering of eyelashes. “I’m Holly, by the way.” **  
  
** Oliver was about to add a polite nod and play along with the shady theory that Thea was suffering from food poisoning when the patient spoke up first. “There’s no need to get your panties wet. He’s happily married, _Holly_.” **  
  
** Pressing his lips together, Oliver turned to his sister, clumsily getting up from the cot, saying, “You got nothin’ on Fellily.” **  
  
** Forcing his voice to stay steady and his face even, Oliver sent Holly a small nod. “Thank you, I’ll take it from here.” He grabbed Thea’s arm with his right and a trashcan with his left. “It’s okay if I borrow this.” **  
  
** It hadn’t been a question, but Holly answered it anyway. “Please,” she said, “keep it.” **  
  
** Good, he hadn’t planned to bring it back anyway. Without another word he pulled Thea out of the medical room. **  
  
** It was the privilege of money that turned being drunk at school into a stomach bug. **  
  
** Oliver knew. He also knew that he couldn’t be judgmental about it. Oliver getting caught cheating during his finals had ended with the donation of a new gymnasium and getting accepted to the first of four Ivy League colleges. **  
  
** That knowledge didn’t mean that he liked what was going on here. Thea was stumbling next to him as he led her to the red Mini parked outside. He was really glad that he had taken the car to drop Felicity off at Firestorm—even if he had done that for the simple reason to make her stop complaining about helmet hair, which made zero sense to him since she always wore a ponytail. But now it seemed like a good coincidence, because there was no way he could have taken his sister anywhere on his bike, considering the state she was in.  
  
Heavily, Thea fell onto the passenger’s seat. Oliver unceremoniously placed the trashcan between her legs, causing her to whine, “I don’t need that.”  
  
Ignoring her, he shut the door and walked around the car. He couldn’t talk to her now, because he knew if he said anything it’d end up being an angry snap. Still, he hoped she was right about not needing the can. **  
  
** The Queen siblings spent the next five minutes in silence. Even the radio stayed off. Thea’s head rested against the cold glass of the window, her eyes were closed and Oliver thought she had fallen asleep when she suddenly said, “Couldn’t mom stand to come and get me?” **  
  
** Oliver didn’t take his eyes off the road. “She had an important meeting and asked me to come for her.”  
  
Opening her eyes and straightening up, Thea huffed, “An important meeting? Is that her code for ‘I don’t care’?”  
  
“No,” Oliver answered, closing his hands around the steering wheel. “It’s code for she had to work and missed the pleasure of fetching you from school, completely drunk.”  
  
“I wish Fecity would have come.”  
  
“She has to work, too.” Oliver was fighting for calm. “And neither she nor mom are doing it to spite you. Working’s just something people do around noon on a weekday.”  
  
“People who aren’t you.” Thea shot back.  
  
Twisting his mouth in unhappiness, Oliver palmed the steering wheel. Another minute of silence followed in which Oliver fought the intense longing to tell her in very clear and unmistakable words what he thought of her and her actions. Felicity reminded him repeatedly that Thea didn’t need his attitude but his help. But that was easier said than done because he honestly despised Thea’s attitude right now.  
  
He wasn’t quite ready to talk to her when she spoke up, her tongue still weighed down by the alcohol. “Why are you always defending mom? The only reason she has to work today is because Walter decided to stay in New York—he can’t bring much more distance between him and his wife without fleeing the country.”  
  
“Mom said he just has some business to take care of. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”  
  
“It didn’t sound like that when I talked to Walter yesterday.”  
  
“Why?” Oliver took his eyes off the road to glance at her quickly. “What did he say?”  
  
“He said he’s contemplating taking up a job offer and becoming the new director of some bank.” Thea hesitated half a second before she added, “He’s planning his future without us.”  
  
The last part of her statement made Oliver send Thea another sideways glance. Realization hit him. His voice deliberately soft, he said, “He’s not leaving you, Thea.”  
  
“He’s thinking about taking a job on the other side of the country. That pretty much feels like leaving to me.” She shook her head. “And it’s all mom’s faul—” She did get any further as she proved herself wrong: turns out she did need the trashcan.  
  
  
  
**January 17 th, 2013  
  
**Luckily, the kidnapping had ended with the necessity of only one funeral. After three days in an artificial coma Valentina’s vitals had stabilized. But her road to recovery was a long one. She was still in one of the private rooms, receiving the best possible care paid for by her thankful employers, Mr. and Mrs. Queen.  
  
And, really, Felicity was thankful. Valentina had been hurt while trying to defend her. The maid had actually shot one of the kidnappers; he had ended up dying in the elevator. He had been a low-life from The Glades, known to work the street corners with pockets full of Vertigo, which was the new in-drug in that part of town. Why a guy like that would go and try to kidnap Felicity Queen was a question that left the police baffled.  
  
Oliver was sure that the guy had been hired by somebody who had absolutely no connection to him or the Glades to make sure that his identity stayed hidden. Felicity had found nothing but proof for that theory, which meant that she hadn’t even found the slightest clue who had paid the dead man and the guys Oliver had taken out in Bludhaven. She had absolutely no clue why they had taken her or how they had known that she would take that certain Saturday off.  
  
According to Oliver and his new best friend John Diggle, the kidnapping had been a mess: too public, too brutal, too many possibilities that something would go wrong. Felicity really didn’t know how to feel about the fact that Oliver was upset the person initiating the abduction hadn’t invested more money to get better criminals. Because, seriously, who complained about kidnappers lacking a higher level of professionalism?  
  
A Captain of the Solntsevskaya Bratva, that’s who.  
  
Felicity couldn’t deny it: she was a little bitter that he hadn’t told her about his connection with the Russian mob earlier. And she was a little worried that she was bitter about the lack of information he had given her, and not the information itself. She felt like she should be more freaked out than she was.  
  
But it was hard to stay mad at the mafia when one of its members had died for her and the other had saved her first family dinner.  
  
Seeing the latter sitting in her hospital bed flooded Felicity with relief as she walked through the door, a flower arrangement in hand. “Hey,” she smiled at the older woman. “You’re up. Or at least upright.”  
  
Valentina Asimov looked proud. “Yes, I am. The doctor said if things keep progressing like this I can go home next week.” Gesturing to the flowers she added. “Those are very beautiful. That really wasn’t necessary, you’ve already done so much.”  
  
Placing the flowers on the hospital nightstand, Felicity looked at the other woman as if she had lost her mind. How could anything she ever did be enough after what Valentina had done? “You deserve everything you get and much more.”  
  
Valentina blushed a little, but then she smirked and motioned to a seat next to the bed and asked, very seriously, “How bad is it at home?”  
  
For a second Felicity acted as if she didn’t know what Valentina was hinting at, but then she crumbled in her seat, because, of course, her housekeeper was worried about the state the apartment was in. “It’s not too bad. I cleaned the bathrooms and the kitchen yesterday.” After working ten hours at Firestorm plus spending another four at the Foundry, but she kept from telling her housekeeper that. “And Oliver said he’d do laundry.”  
  
“Oh?” The Russian woman seemed honestly taken aback by that information. “A man offering to help? All my Maxim ever did was grocery shop. He forgot half of what was on that list.”  
  
“I know, it kinda feels like I ended up in a weird twilight-zone.” The women shared a small laugh, then Felicity shrugged. “But Oliver said he knew how to do laundry so... who am I to keep him from it?”  
  
“I’ll come back as soon as I can.”  
  
Felicity looked at the woman sitting in bed with surprise. She hadn’t dared to hope that Valentina would even contemplate that. In her experience, getting shot at could do some serious damage to working relationships. Sam, her ex-employee who had been hit during the Firestorm shooting, hadn’t been able to set foot in the building—and her injuries hadn’t been as bad as Valentina’s. “You want to continue working for us?”  
  
“Of course! Without me you’re lost.” Felicity hated that that statement was the absolute truth. Valentina knew, the smirk playing around her lips showed it. “And I promised Mr. Queen to make him пельме́ни.” At the look on Felicity’s face she translated: “Pelmeni. Apparently he really enjoys them.”  
  
“Oh,” was all Felicity could say to that, “I didn’t know.” Because, really, she hadn’t known. It triggered a sudden uneasiness, a suspicion that made Felicity change the subject. “And you can scratch the Mr. Queen, just call him Oliver.”  
  
The suggestion alone seemed to be nearly indecent to Valentina. “I never could! He’s a Captain!”  
  
That was another statement that let Mrs. Captain switch to another topic. “So, tell me, how are you feeling?”  
  
“Sore, but much, much better. Even though, I have to take so many pills.” She leaned over and reached for the pill organizer behind the flowers. The movement caused Valentina’s nightgown to shift.  
  
Suddenly Felicity felt like the biggest idiot walking the earth, ever.  
  
Forcing herself to keep her face even and to react adequately to the amount of medicine Valentina had to take three times a day, Felicity kept the casual small talk going, but all she could think about was what she had just seen by accident: the tattoo spreading out over Valentina’s chest.  
  
It looked exactly like the one Oliver had.  
  
How could she have never questioned them—his tattoos—before? How could she have never contemplated all that they meant? It was a very obvious sign right there on his chest and she had just accepted it.  
  
Now it was pretty hard to accept that she obviously didn’t know him half as well as she believed.  
  
No, she realized, that wasn’t true. She did know him. She knew little things like his favorite breakfast cereal and that he hated garlic. She knew that he always fell asleep on his back – which was a habit gained on the island, because it made him feel like he was able to get fighting-ready more quickly – but that he always rolled to his right as soon as he sank deep into sleep. She knew that caressing the insides of his thighs made him sigh. She knew that she loved when he made that sound. She knew that switching topics was his way of admitting she was right. She knew that the clenching of his fist meant that she could get him out of his anger, but when he brought his index-finger to his thumb it was better to give him some space to collect his thoughts, because those were moments he felt anxious and vulnerable. She knew that he had jumped out of a plane to fight her kidnappers and rescue her—which was both awesome and awful; it was a dramatic gesture that she loved while it seemed like something that shouldn’t be happening in real life. But it had happened and she knew that his actions were his way of telling her how he felt, because she knew that he was afraid to tell her with words.  
  
She knew Oliver.  
  
But despite that, there were huge black spots she needed light on.  
  
Determined to illuminate some things, she left Starling City General with Pyotr Matveev by her side. He was the new Vitali, filling in if neither Oliver nor John had time, and today John had wanted Oliver to meet somebody—whatever _that_ meant.  
  
Pyotr was a soft-spoken giant who had a thing for video games. He carried his PS Vita everywhere. At first Felicity had feared Oliver’s reaction if he ever found out that Pyotr didn’t have his eyes on her at all times, but then she had seen the massive man move very swiftly to intercept a paparazzi photographer, barely taking his eyes off the portable screen, and she had been once again reminded to never underestimate the mob.  
  
Her cellphone rang when she walked to the Bentley—ever since Pyotr accompanied her, taking the Mini Cooper was out of question. The guy was so huge, Felicity feared he would dent the roof with his head. She saw Oliver’s picture in the display and answered quickly. “Hey.”  
  
“Hey,” he answered. “Where are you?”  
  
“I just left the hospital. Valentina’s much better. Pyotr’s about to drive me home.”  
  
“Can you come to the Foundry instead? We need your help.” He sighed and didn’t sound too happy when he continued, “Digg asked for a favor. Apparently, Carly’s best friend’s brother died in a fire last week. She thinks he was killed. I think being a firefighter comes with the risk of dying in a fire. But Diggle said we owed him to check it out.”  
  
“We do,” Felicity said. “We owe him.”  
  
“I know, I’ll meet you upstairs to relieve Pyotr.”  
  
Biting back a comment about his overreaching, overbearing overprotectiveness, Felicity sighed. “Fine, but we need to talk later.”  
  
“About what?”  
  
“About how you came to like Russian Pelmeni on a Chinese island.”  
  
__________________________________________  
  
  
Felicity had found the suspicious car and Oliver had hooded up to run into a burning building.  
  
Before Oliver had gone and done what he was really good at, he had seen Felicity in action—and, boy, that impressed him every time.  
  
Oliver knew Felicity was good with computers. Back when he had asked for her help investigating the bank robberies, she had been able to tell him pretty much everything he needed to know about Derek Reston very quickly; not to mention that she had traced the arrow of the other archer in about two minutes.  
  
But what had happened in the hour before he had gone to confront an arsonist left him speechless. Within said hour, she had gathered solid evidence that Danny Martinez, the brother of Carly’s friend, had died in a fire that burned at 250 degrees, which a firefighter’s coat was supposed to withstand. The coroner, who had also found traces of turpentine on the body, was sure that the fire in the factory where Martinez died had at least reached 500 degrees. Felicity had even found a second fireman who had died under similarly shady circumstances.  
  
All of this led even Oliver to believe that the accident wasn’t at all accidental.  
  
Next, security feeds taped by cameras close to the burn sites had appeared on Felicity’s screens and Diggle had noticed the same ‘72 Ford pick-up on both recordings. That had been right around the time the news had spread that Stagg Chemicals was burning. More hacking had brought a security stream to Felicity’s monitor, showing a distinctive Ford parked two streets away.  
  
The Hood had been able to rescue a firefighter because Oliver was married to an amazing woman with serious skills.  
  
That was a win-win situation if there ever was one.  
  
Yet, The Hood had failed his ultimate goal tonight. He had confronted the arsonist, the killer, but he hadn’t been able to stop him. The fire had been everywhere, a fireman close by had been unconscious and Oliver needed to get that innocent man out of there as quickly as possible.  
  
Oliver knew that he had made the right decision saving this man, but that didn’t change the fact that he was mad at himself for letting the arsonist escape. He hated that he hadn’t been able to take this threat down. Still, he had gotten a good look at the man dressed in a fireman’s uniform, he had seen the burns and a very distinctive tattoo. He would find that maniac and stop him.  
  
Oliver promised that to himself as well as to Diggle before the soldier called it a night and left the Foundry.  
  
Still in his leather suit with his hood pulled back and his eyes smudged with paint, Oliver watched his new partner walk up the stairs. His face twisted in unhappiness. He had wanted to end this favor quickly and get on with the list, but he had messed that up. Noisily, he placed his bow on his workbench. There was so much tension inside him, mixing with the adrenaline roaming his veins. His body was still alert, his senses were heightened, his mood was bad, and he knew he needed to calm down a little before he was his normal self again.  
  
“I thought you’d run into the fire just to avoid our talk,” Felicity said casually while slowly walking toward him.  
  
“Felicity,” he practically growled at her, “not now.” He couldn’t do this right now, and she should know.  
  
If she knew, she didn’t care. “Then when, Oliver?” He wished she’d keep her distance, but she didn’t. “When are you going to tell me that you weren’t on that island the whole time?”  
  
“NOT NOW!”  
  
She flinched away.  
  
Regret filled him instantly; he regretted yelling at her, but he couldn’t help it, couldn’t hold back. He wasn’t himself right now. He was what he had become since the Gambit went down, and he needed a few minutes to turn into her husband again before he could have this conversation.  
  
It was a conversation he really dreaded. She didn’t need to know what had happened exactly, where he had been and what he had done, how he had become the killer that she had accused him of being when she had first found out his ultimate secret. He was standing here, dressed in leather, wearing the hood of a woman who had died because of him, the smell of the fire he had faced not thirty minutes ago still in his nostrils, and right then he was the worst version of himself. He was the product of his five years away, a man that didn’t deserve all the good Felicity represented. When he was with her his hands could be gentle, they could hold her and caress her and give her pleasure, but when he put on the gloves and grabbed the bow, they were the blood-covered hands of a man who had bashed another man’s head in with a rock. Felicity might have joined him in the Foundry, but he had made sure she never saw the darkest side of him. Never had she witnessed the whole extent of the brutality he was capable of, and he was determined to keep it that way.  
  
Back when they had made it official, when they had sat in their main room, he had told her that he had to find a way to be both Oliver Queen and The Hood. But the first time he had put on the hood after that, he had realized that he couldn’t. Felicity had been kidnapped and he had found her, bloody and scared in a filthy room, and he hadn’t even been able to touch her, to comfort her the way he wanted to. He had to keep his distance, because there were cameras all around and right then he wasn’t her husband but something else the outside world didn’t understand.  
  
So he had tried to go the opposite direction and keep Oliver Queen and The Hood as separate as possible. But the question she was asking right now was blurring the line he had drawn. It addressed one of his biggest fears which he’d only become aware of since the horrible day she had been kidnapped, when he had failed to keep her safe: he didn’t know if he could make it work.  
  
He wanted nothing more than to be everything she wanted and needed, but he didn’t know how. And he didn’t know how to tell her all that. He hadn’t dared to do so for weeks. He hadn’t figured out a way to share his worries with her and now she wanted him to do it when he was still hopped up on adrenaline and aggression. Why did she have to do this now? Why couldn’t she give him a minute? He turned away from her, unable to meet her eyes.  
  
“Oliver—” She was demanding his attention and that one word was the one too much.  
  
Like a strained rubber band snapping from a finger, he shot back around and faced her, the tension propelling him toward her, right in her face. “OKAY! I wasn’t on the island the whole time. Are you happy now?” The look in her eyes told him that she wasn’t happy. Not at all. But he didn’t care. He was angry because she was being unfair. Her demand to talk and share was unfair. He glared at her. “Now should we talk about all the stuff you didn’t tell me?!”  
  
His accusation surprised her. He had caught her off guard, he knew, and got visible proof when she straightened up and crossed her arms over her chest. She was pulling herself together while she created a barrier in front of herself; it was one of Felicity Queen’s habits Oliver had witnessed before. But she took on his challenge, like she always did, like she always took on every challenge, without backing down. She met his eyes. “And what would that be?”  
  
“Your family, for one.” He answered, his voice harsh. “You never talk about them. I know nothing but that your mother died right before we met. And what about that ex you mentioned? That sounded like there was more to tell.” He glared at her. “Face it! There are a lot of things about you I don’t know either. And I don’t pressure you into telling me!”  
  
She stared at him as the echoes of his angry accusation rang through the room. Letting her arms drop, she gave her defensive stance up. Her posture and her face were open as she looked at him. “That’s true.”  
  
Her admittance cut through his heated anger. Her soft and calm voice reached him and brought him to his senses. It wasn’t the first time he had exploded around her, but this time he had exploded _at_ her—and she didn’t deserve that. Not when his anger was really directed at himself and at the fear of being unable to be with her when that was all he really wanted. He stepped back and breathed deliberately, trying to get a grip on his temper.  
  
Forcing himself to speak more evenly, he said, “Give me five minutes, please. I need to feel a little bit more like myself. Then we can talk.”  
  
Her only answer was a slow nod.  
  
Five minutes turned into ten, then fifteen, and finally twenty. Hitting his training dummy, he worked off his frustrations caused by his inability to catch this arsonist, but most of all by his failure to have a normal conversation with his wife. It took another five minute shower until he felt like he could face Felicity.  
  
Seeing him walk toward her, she got up from her seat. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have given you your cool-down time before—”  
  
“Don’t.” He had to stop her right there, because he couldn’t have her apologizing when he had been the one snapping at her, shouting at her—when _he_ was the problem. He took a deep breath. “How did you know?” he asked and added as clarification, “that I wasn’t on the island the whole time?”  
  
“Valentina. I saw her tattoo.” Her hand moved to his chest and settled right where the Bratva-tattoo marked his skin. “I got a pretty good look at your chest when we were in Vegas and back then it was ink-free. It just seems unlikely that you joined the mafia on an island. And learned Russian. And got yourself a favorite Russian dish.” She sighed. “I had this suspicion for months, but I wanted to wait until you were ready to tell me. But so many things happened in the last weeks and you didn’t tell me anything. You only made sure you always had eyes on me.”  
  
“I don’t like to talk about my time away,” he confessed.  
  
“I understand,” she said softly. “I mean, you did tell me a little. And after what people did to you—”  
  
“No,” he objected, forcefully. “It’s about what _I_ did.” He shook his head slightly while his index finger brushed over his thumb. “I don’t want people to know what I did. But most of all I don’t want you to know, because you couldn’t…. You wouldn’t want to be with me if you did. And if I’m honest, I know that you shouldn’t be with me. I’m selfish, keeping this going.”  
  
She looked at him, thinking for a few moments and then said, matter-of-factly, “Oliver, you’re an idiot.”  
  
He blinked at her.  
  
“We both are the people we are today because of the things we experienced,” she said. “You went through some horrible things, and as much as I wished that you didn’t have to do that, those experiences shaped the person you are today and I like that guy—which probably means that I have some serious issues myself. But that probably also means that we’re a match made in heaven.” After taking a second to gather her wandering thoughts, she added. “We rarely talk about the past. Not just the last five years, but everything…. You’re right, I never told you about my family. You don’t know that our drunken marriage was fueled by mom dying of cancer. She would have loved knowing that I drunkenly married a billionaire. Seriously, wherever she is, she popped open the champagne when that happened. There’s a lot you don’t know. But I think we should do that, get to know each other’s pasts better.”  
  
Pressing his lips together, he dared to meet her eyes. He could see how serious she was about this, he saw the assurance that whatever he would tell her she’d deal with it, he saw the willingness to share and to accept. Oliver could read Felicity like an open book. He often looked at her and knew what she was thinking. It was a connection he cherished, that he had never had with anybody else, and he had always enjoyed that they didn’t need to say much to communicate perfectly.  
  
But he knew that she was right: some things needed to be voiced. Not everything could be expressed by a glance or a kiss or a ring. She deserved to know some things about him. Now that they had committed to each other not just drunkenly but consciously, he couldn’t hide from her anymore. He had let her in his heart, now he also had to dare to let her in on some of his darkest secrets. But there were so many of them, and they were darker than the deepest night. Some parts of his past should never be exposed to the light. But he could start by giving her some basics, outlining some things. **  
  
** He weighed the words in his head and formed them carefully, letting them roll off his tongue. “I was on the island for two years. Then I was taken to Hong Kong. There I was trained to be… an assassin. After that I spent time in Moscow, where I joined Bratva and realized that I like пельме́ни. Ultimately, it was my decision to return to Lian Yu and come back to Starling City.”  
  
“Lian Yu?”  
  
“That’s the name of the island. It’s Mandarin for purgatory.”  
  
“Oh,” Felicity breathed, obviously digging her brain for words to say before she only came up with a sarcastic, “Talk about bad advertising.”  
  
An involuntary snort escaped him. But he turned serious again almost instantly. “The truth is: you are the first good thing that’s happened to me in five years. You are the only light in my life, the only person I trust completely. I want to be honest with you and… I will never lie to you. But, please, don’t ask me to tell you more right now. I can’t get into details, because I did some things that….” He swallowed, starting anew. “I think you should stop coming to the Foundry. When I’m The Hood I’m not—”  
  
Her hand flew to his cheek, stopping him mid-sentence. “You are everything I want, Oliver.” His heart dared to beat faster. Seeing the expression that crossed his face, she smiled. “Nothing you tell me could change the way I feel about you. You survived hell – plus purgatory – and you returned with the intention to do good. And you’re doing that whenever you look beyond the list.” She thought for a second before she continued, “Everything you survived turned you into the man you are today. And I love that man.”  
  
His quickly-beating heart swelled in his chest and exploded, sending a rush through his entire body that made him feel light-headed. He stared at her and just—smiled. It was all he could do, because that wasn’t only the best thing that had happened to him in five years. That was the best thing that had happened to him ever.  
  
She smiled, too, her eyes shining. Her hand added a little pressure to his cheek. “I love you, Oliver. Even when you wear your hood and you snap at me. Because you might not feel like yourself then, but it’s part of who you are. I know you don’t like that, but I think it’s all or nothing. And I’m all in.”  
  
The emotional eruption spiked through his body and filled him to the brink. It was too good to describe, but it left him a little helpless. He didn’t know what to do with himself, with all that positivity inside of him. He felt amazing and awkward at the same time, and Oliver reacted in the only way he could: he reached for her and kissed her. He pulled her to his body, held her with the conviction to never let her go again, and kissed her with everything he had. But as he did, he realized that this was one of the times when wordless communication wouldn’t do. He realized that as much as he had needed to hear her say it, he needed to tell her, too.  
  
Not letting her go, he ended the kiss and looked her in the eyes, craving both the verbal and non-verbal communication. “I love you, Felicity.” His voice wasn’t as strong as he would have liked, wavering with emotion. It was the barest whisper, but she heard it, he saw it in her eyes, felt it in the way her fingers tightened on his back, he read it from her lips, forming the most beautiful smile.  
  
He rested his forehead against hers and wished it could stay like this forever. Everything was so complicated, but this, here, was simple. Being with Felicity, loving her and being loved back, it came naturally. It was all he needed. Because before he might have survived, but this here, this was living.


	23. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a huge chapter, so let me make this quick: Thank you so much for sticking with this story. Your continued support and most of all your positive reactions [to the previous chapter] amaze me. You girls are the best. I’m very glad that so many of you enjoy the direction I’m taking Oliver’s and Felicity’s relationship. Thank you all very, very much.
> 
> As always: my sincerest gratitude to **Albiona**. I couldn’t do this without her. ♥
> 
> Okay, let's do this. Enjoy!

**January 23 rd, 2013**  
  
You know that there is something off in your life if you watch a news segment about an armored car heist and can’t help but be impressed with the swarming technique of the robbers.  
  
Strangely, that was the only thing that popped up in Oliver’s mind as he stood in the main room, noisily eating an apple and watching the morning news. Those robbers had special training, Oliver was sure of it and it reminded him of something, triggered a memory he had shelved somewhere. Bethany Snow – the anchorwoman Felicity hated because of a spiteful feature about the social climber that was the daughter of a cheap cocktail waitress turned billionaire’s wife – switched to the weather report as she did every half hour. That meant it was 7:30 and Felicity was running late.  
  
“Felicity, your first meeting’s in thirty minutes,” he called and took the last bite of his apple, walking toward the kitchen to throw the core out.  
  
An alarmed yell rang through the apartment, triggering instant reflexes. Oliver ran for their bedroom, ready to fight, when Felicity appeared in the door frame. She looked unharmed—but slightly angry. Her voice full of accusation, she asked, “What did you do?”  
  
He stared at her, the apple core still in hand, and was at a complete loss.  
  
Raising a fistful of cloth, Felicity asked again, “What did you do?”  
  
Carefully Oliver peered at what she was holding up. Recognizing it, he answered, “Your shirt? I washed it.” He felt slightly proud. “I made sure I washed it with similar colors.” He hadn’t that first time in Hong Kong. Even though his underpants hadn’t turned the clichéd pink, the baby-blue he had ended up with wasn’t the biggest improvement.  
  
Felicity glared at him and pressed out between her lips. “This. Is. Silk.” When she saw the non-understanding on his face, she clarified. “You put my favorite silk blouse in the dryer.” She glared at him. “I wore this blouse when I sighed the Firestorm-contract. It’s lucky—or was lucky, because now it’s _ruined_.”  
  
Feeling like he really didn’t deserve her attitude, he stared at her. He had done the laundry, he had done his part of the housework though he was already pretty busy bringing down bad guys and making the city safer. Last week he had stood in a burning building fighting a guy who murdered firefighters and now she was bitching at him, because he had put one little silk blouse in the dryer? She had to be kidding him!  
  
“You said you knew how to do laundry,” she challenged.  
  
“I do.”  
  
“Apparently, you don’t. Because if you did, you knew that you can’t put silk in the dryer, because it ends up looking like this.” She balled the blouse up and threw it at him—or, rather, past him. She had terrible aim.  
  
“You know what? Maybe you should do your own laundry then.”  
  
They glared at each other, before Oliver brought his hand up and motioned to her current outfit, which was a blue skirt matched with a burgundy bra. “If you don’t want to leave like this you should get dressed.”  
  
“I would if I had my favorite blouse.” Narrowing her eyes she shot him another glare before forcefully turning around, muttering something about _men_ and the inability of reading labels and lacking apologies.  
  
When she returned five minutes later, she was wearing a grey and pink dress. Oliver reached for the remote just as Felicity said, “Blech, Bethany Snow.”  
  
“I know,” Oliver pressed the off-button, “we hate her.” He headed toward Felicity. “Ready?”  
  
“Yeah, let’s go.”  
  
He nodded and bent down to kiss her. Keeping his face close to hers he said, “I’m sorry for ruining your blouse.”  
  
“It’s okay.” She looked up at him over the rims of her glasses. “You’re banned from washing my stuff ever again, of course.”  
  
He sighed. “Of course.”  
  
_____________________________________  
  
  
Getting the evidence on Garfield Lynns, the firefighter turned arsonist, last week had been a win.  
  
Felicity had needed that. She had needed a win, because there had been too many losses lately. She had lost track of how many times she had hit dead ends. Her search for the wreck—dead end. The money trail from her kidnappers to whoever had hired them—dead end. The search for the other archer—had never gotten beyond the warehouse Oliver had confronted him in. Normally, she was really good at getting information, but lately all she got was depressed.  
  
The dead end she was running into at work only fueled the feeling. The destruction of the servers had had bigger consequences than Felicity had ever dared to fear. Firestorm’s reputation had suffered some serious scratches. People were worried about security and they were questioning her abilities. The value of her company was tumbling, and Felicity was stuck with damage control, meeting customers to assure them that their personal data had not been stolen, that their company wasn’t vulnerable, that Firestorm had significantly increased its security.  
  
Benson Greyson wasn’t particularly impressed with any of her assurances, which Felicity could see in the smug face opposite her. “Mrs. Queen.” The young man with the impeccably tailored suit flashed her his slightly too white teeth. It could be called a smile if one were generous. “We use your filing software to handle sensitive information within our company. How do you know that that’s not compromised?”  
  
“Because our servers were attacked and not yours.”  
  
Not adding a silent ‘you idiot’ – not even mentally, because Felicity knew how often her mouth overpowered her brain – she sent Greyson her most encouraging smile. It was especially bright because she disliked the man _that_ much. He was the son of filthy rich parents, and even though Felicity knew she couldn’t blame him for that – she had married a guy fitting the same basic description after all – she blamed him for being an asshole.  
  
“Oh? And why’s that encouraging?” Benson Greyson asked and all Felicity could think was that, if his yacht was ever blown up (and she could see why people might be tempted to do that), he wouldn’t last five minutes on Purgatory. Instantly, she felt guilty for allowing such a thought. Nobody should have to go through what Oliver had experienced. The trust fund baby opposite her might need a swift kick in his ass, but he didn’t need to be confronted with torturing soldiers and who knows what else.  
  
Forcing herself to keep her voice even, she answered, “Because your sensitive information was never on our servers. If your servers weren’t hacked, you have nothing to worry about.”  
  
He stared at her. “But somebody managed to hack your servers.”  
  
“No,” Felicity was still all calm—outwardly. Inside she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to bitch-slap that smug little face.  
  
“No?” he exaggerated his surprise.  
  
“No. Our security was too tight. Firestorm’s firewall couldn’t be breached—and because of that somebody _crashed_ our servers. I can assure you: absolutely no information left this company.”  
  
“But information was lost.”  
  
“I assure you, Mr. Greyson, all information necessary to provide you with the tech-support we guaranteed you when you purchased our software is still available. The software is running flawlessly, operational procedures within this company were not affected in the least, and we have taken measures to protect ourselves from such brute force attacks in the future.”  
  
The man looked at her calculatingly. Playing with the monogramed cufflink on this left wrist, he said, “I went to high school with your husband, you know.”  
  
Until now Greyson hadn’t said anything that had surprised her. She had been fine with reciting the same assurances she had given multiple times in the last week, but this was unexpected. It also made Felicitysuspicious. She felt Damian James, her CFO, who always participated in meetings with clients, straighten up next to her. “Oh,” Felicity accompanied her words with a smile, “I didn’t know.”  
  
“I hated him.”  
  
Felicity ended the fake smiling, because she honestly couldn’t keep being polite to the jerk any longer. “And why’s your high school feud relevant?”  
  
“I don’t think I feel comfortable with the lacking level of professionalism of your company, Mrs. Queen. My father chose to use your software, but I think in the light of current events that decision wasn’t the best.”  
  
Unimpressed, Felicity looked at the man. “Mr. Greyson, you must do as you see fit. If you want to spend a hundred thousand dollars on a software that’s inferior to the one you’re using because you didn’t like my husband in high school, then that’s a really dumb business decision you’ll have to live with.” She added another fake smile as she rose from her seat in the conference room. “Thank you for taking the time to come by.”  
  
Not even keeping the act of a politeness up, they spared each other a disagreeable handshake. Her hands firmly on the table, Felicity watched Damian accompany Benson Greyson to the front door.  
  
Breathing deliberately, Felicity waited a few more moments before she sank back down to her seat. Defeat claimed her as she took off her glasses with her left hand and used her right to cover her eyes, trying to collect herself. Most people had accepted Felicity’s heartfelt apology and stuck with Firestorm, but those who didn’t were a setback. From the start, Felicity had made an effort to expand her clientele beyond Queen Consolidated to make sure that her business wasn’t exclusively founded on the charity of the family she had married into. She had needed to feel like the success was her own, like she had earned it, like she had accomplished more than convincing her mentor to persuade her mother-in-law. But right now she couldn’t help but feel glad that at least QC wouldn’t jump ship.  
  
“Felicity, I adore you, but that was stupid.”  
  
Her hand dropped to the wooden tabletop with a soft “thud” as she brought her eyes to Damian on the other side of the table. “There was no need to keep the act up,” Felicity defended weakly. “Greyson wanted to leave, just to spite me. Or Oliver. Or both. I don’t know, but he never came here to hear me out, he came here to say his peace.”  
  
“I think you could have swayed him. If you’d been your charming self, you could’ve.”  
  
“I didn’t feel like charming that asshole.”  
  
“Because he hates your husband....” Damian sighed and sank down on a chair. “Did you notice that this company was running perfectly until he came back?” Seeing the look on Felicity’s face he held his hands up, already surrendering. “Just an observation.”  
  
It was the truth. Felicity couldn’t deny that. Yet, she didn’t have to like him truthfully observing it, because it didn’t matter in the big picture: it didn’t change the way she felt about Oliver. “And that observation is helpful, how?”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Damian sighed. “I got the newest stock numbers before this meeting. Greyson Global sticking with us would have helped improve what I saw there. A lot. We need good news, Felicity. I know that these last months have been hard on you. The kidnapping, the shooting—”  
  
“Shootings,” Felicity corrected and realized instantly that that didn’t really improve things—much the opposite.  
  
With a wave of his hand Damian indicated his proved point. “When you hired me as your CFO, you told me to you wanted me because I look at numbers rationally. And I’m now saying this as your CFO who’s looking at the numbers and as not your friend: you cannot lose another costumer, Felicity. You, we need a win—desperately.”  
  
“I know.” Felicity sank back in her chair. “But right now I’m at a loss.”  
  
______________________________  
  
  
Knowing Oliver’s history, Benson Greyson probably had good reason to be mad at him. Determined to ask Oliver what that was and if, maybe, the name Greyson was part of his list, Felicity stood in the south alleyway next to the Foundry. With people working up top to turn the main factory hall into a nightclub, Oliver decided they needed a second, more secretive access point. The security panel was hidden behind a metal plate that blended in with the wall perfectly. After sliding the plate to the side, Felicity typed in the code Oliver had given her: 0827.  
  
The numerical combination raised ambiguous emotions in Felicity.  
  
Apparently, Oliver had picked up some of his mother’s habits when it came to security measures. Felicity had told Moira uncounted times that using her wedding date as a pin code was too transparent and neither smart nor safe. The fact that Oliver was doing the same thing didn’t make this any smarter or safer, but Felicity couldn’t help but enjoy the gesture. She couldn’t help the happy tingle that he remembered the date. Choosing the code hadn’t been an accident, Felicity knew with absolute certainty. It been another one of Oliver’s wordless ‘I love you’s, and she was a sucker for those. Even though the worded ‘I love you’ had been perfect, she knew he struggled with actually saying it.  
  
After all the times she had chided Moira, it might be hypocritical, but Felicity liked their stupid meaningful security code. The thought brought a smile to her face that vanished as she entered the Foundry and heard John’s voice. “I don’t care what your book says! Ted Gaynor saved my life, Oliver.”  
  
“Digg, it’s been a long time since he was your commanding officer; it was your first tour in Afghanistan.”  
  
“The fact that you memorized my vita doesn’t prove anything,” John’s voice continued to tense. “I kept contact with Ted since we got stateside. He offered me a job at Blackhawk. Trust me, you don’t know this man like I do.”  
  
Oliver, on the other hand, sounded calm. “I know in Afghanistan his training specialty was M-32 multiple grenade launchers, the exact same weapon used in these heists and not exactly something that you find at your local sporting goods store.”  
  
Stepping around the corner, Felicity saw the two men standing a little too close to each other. It was a mutual intimidation tactic that failed just as mutually: neither of them even thought about backing down. Instead, they glared at each other. Felicity stopped quite a few steps away. “What’s going on here?”  
  
Both men ignored her. “You said you thought the list was your father’s, but it wasn’t,” John reasoned. “Last month you found out that it was written by whoever hired the other archer. Doesn’t that kind of beg the question what else you could be wrong about?”  
  
“I could be wrong. But the list isn’t.”  
  
“Guys?” Felicity tried again. Watching the men carefully, she slowly walked closer. “Could you please tell me what’s up with all the testosterone you’re throwing around?”  
  
Silence was the only answer to this question. After a few heartbeats Oliver chose to add a vocal answer, “Diggle knows somebody on the list.”  
  
“And I won’t stand by as you aim an arrow at him.” John’s eyes were glued to the other man, his voice held a clear warning.  
  
“Oliver doesn’t arrow everybody.” The words left Felicity’s lips before she reasoned that it wouldn’t exactly help her case. “I mean, sure he did shoot some people,” she hurried to add. “Which I don’t approve of, generally. Even though I can’t hold shooting that guy in the Exchange Building against him, because he did aim a gun at my head—the kidnapper with the bad mask, not Oliver, of course. I’m just saying that it’s been some time since he killed anybody—and now that I say it out loud it sounds really bad.”  
  
Somewhere in the middle of her rant, the two men stopped staring at each other and turned to look at her.  
  
Oliver’s gaze lingered on her for another moment before he placed his attention back on John. “I’m gonna have a pointed conversation with Mr. Gaynor. We’ll see what he has to say about the heists. I understand if you want to take the week off.”  
  
“You asked me to join your crusade, Oliver. As your _partner_.” John crossed his arms in front of his chest. “And I will not let you William Tell a man I know is innocent.”  
  
“Didn’t Tell hit the apple?” Felicity’s question made four male eyes snap back to her. “Because of the analogy,” she explained and felt awkward. “I’m just saying that if Oliver Tell-ed your friend, he’d spare his life....” Seeing the look on the men’s faces, she sighed, “I should’ve listened to my mother. She always told me that nobody likes a wiseass.”  
  
The testosterone fueled tension of the Foundry didn’t leave any space for a smile. Felicity hated the atmosphere, thickening more and more. Felicity knew they would continue to go at each other until they collided. Following a sudden thought, she hurried to say, “Maybe we can use the fact that John knows the guy on the list? Maybe John can talk to him, get information without Oliver putting the fear of God into him.”  
  
“Felicity,” Oliver said, “I think Gaynor stole 2.3 million dollars in his last heist alone. He’d be an idiot to go around and tell that to random people.”  
  
“I’m not random people,” John corrected.  
  
Finally daring to move closer, Felicity said, “Maybe we can find a way for his friend to trust John even more? It’s what people do in the movies.”  
  
“But this isn’t a movie, Felicity,” Oliver corrected. “We can’t have Digg save Gaynor’s life….” His face changed instantly. The scowl vanished and his narrowed eyes widened a little. He slowly looked at John, “Digg, tonight you’ll save Ted Gaynor from The Hood. How’s that for trust-building?”  
  
John nodded, “I’d say pretty good.”  
  
Oliver looked at his partner calmly. “Just so you know: I can live with being wrong about Gaynor. I hope the same goes for you.”  
  
“Don’t worry about me, Oliver. I’ll deal with you being wrong.”  
  
Another stare full of manliness followed. Oliver ended it with a quick nod, “Fair enough.” He turned to Felicity. “And now: don’t think I didn’t notice that you came in here alone. Why didn’t Pyotr wait for me to relieve him?”  
  
“Oh, he couldn’t wait, because I came here on my own.”  
  
“You... what?!” Oliver glowered.  
  
“Felicity,” John shook his head, “that really wasn’t smart.”  
  
Of course, Felicity thought, suddenly they’re BFFs again. MEN!  
  
  
  
**January 24 th, 2013**  
  
Faking interest was Oliver’s best secret power.  
  
It was shocking how many things, that people around him cared about immensely, were completely irrelevant to him. Like the name of the club. Tommy was freaking out trying to decide what to call it. According to Oliver’s best friend, the name needed to be suave with an edge, trendy but timeless. Oliver had no idea what that was supposed to mean. The only thing Tommy was sure about was that the name _Queen’s_ was out of the question, because “we won’t get the clientele we’re hoping for.” _That_ Oliver had understood perfectly. It had been one of Tommy’s jokes, of course, mainly directed at Oliver. So he had kept from reminding Tommy that people like Yongtak were very much the clientele you wanted in a club: Tak not only knew how to party, he was also willing to spend a lot of money on party-accompanying alcohol.  
  
Even though, as far as Felicity had told Oliver, Tak had opted for quiet nights in lately. Apparently, things were going great with the guy he met on New Year’s.  
  
They were going so great that Kristina was hell-bent on hosting a couple’s dinner next week.  
  
That was another thing Oliver honestly wasn’t interested in.  
  
Ironically, Kristina’s fishy boyfriend Demarion was one of the main reasons for that. That guy was a free-loader, trying to get the most out of his girlfriend’s friendship with rich people, and it rubbed Oliver the wrong way. The background check Oliver conducted today, after Demarion had called and been pushy about DJ-ing at the club while asking for way too much money, revealed that Demarion wasn’t only broke but heavily in debt. It might be nothing, but to Oliver it felt like something—at least like something that Felicity should know about. Kristina was her best friend, she would know what to do with the information.  
  
He would discuss it later at the Foundry, when she hopefully managed to decrypt the security fob Oliver had randomly grabbed when he had fled from the Blackhawk offices.  
  
Their plan to get Diggle close to Ted Gaynor had worked.  
  
Letting John Diggle call the shots on this investigation was another thing Oliver didn’t care much for, but he hadn’t been able to come up with an argument when Felicity had pointed out that showing Diggle some trust was the right thing to do. Plus, she was right when she said that Gaynor’s name was on the list for at least five years and that a few more days didn’t matter. So, he sat back and let Diggle try to prove his friend’s innocence.  
  
Oliver hadn’t yet decided what he’d do if Gaynor really wasn’t responsible for the heists. He didn’t know if he would be able to let it go—after all, his name was on the list and that list was important. If there was one thing Oliver was absolutely sure of, it was that.  
  
And that he loved Felicity.  
  
But loving her was something – maybe the only thing – in his life that came naturally to him, that felt right. So he had stopped debating it and simply enjoyed it. She was one person he really cared about.  
  
Oliver also cared about his sister. Even though, he really didn’t care if she got a car for her birthday.  
  
But Thea cared—for one hour. That, apparently, was the limit of Oliver’s secret power. He couldn’t fake interest any longer. “Thea, what’s wrong with the BMW you’re driving right now?”  
  
His sister looked at him as if he had just asked the dumbest question in the history of dumb questions. “It’s not a convertible.”  
  
Oliver sighed and hoped to end the conversation with a clear announcement. “I won’t tell you if you’re getting a new car for your birthday.”  
  
“You got a car for your eighteenth birthday,” Thea defended.  
  
“It wasn’t a convertible either,” Oliver shot back.  
  
The expression on Thea’s face was blank. “It was a Maserati.”  
  
Okay, she remembered that corrected. He tipped his head to the side a little, playfully challenging her. “Yeah, but I could back out of the driveway without hitting anything.”  
  
“I honestly don’t know why mom told you that!” Thea huffed. “And I never liked that stupid lion statue anyway.”  
  
“Still, running it over was a little drastic,” Oliver teased.  
  
“Whatever.” Thea, who sat on the couch with her feet comfortably popped up on the coffee table, crossed her arms over her chest, but only managed to keep the annoyed act up for a second or two. Leaning her head against the couch, she looked at her brother. “I understand why you like it here.” She gestured around the main room, referencing the whole apartment. “It’s cozy.”  
  
Oliver looked at the young woman on his couch. Since his return, he hadn’t often seen her like this: her face was fresh, her eyes were clear, and her lips broke into an easy smile. Her brown hair flowed around her face, spilled out over her shoulders and a flimsy top that the big brother in him hated with a passion. But he had promised Felicity to not be judgmental. He had promised to address his picking Thea up from school drunk in a calm and collected way.  
  
This promise was the reason why he hadn’t told Thea that he thought a birthday present in the form of a car was a bad idea. Of course, their mother had already bought a convertible. Getting a girl with an obvious alcohol problem a car couldn’t end well.  
  
Swallowing all of that and sticking to his promise, he said, “You’re always welcome here.”  
  
“I know,” Thea sighed. “But, actually, that’s why I wanted to talk. I want to ask you to come to the mansion more. With Walter gone....” She left the sentence hanging.  
  
That was another thing Oliver really wasn’t interested in. Going to the mansion made it really difficult to avoid his mother, which he was very interested in. The things Felicity had revealed about her, the fact that she had stored the wreck of the _Queen’s Gambit_ , left him with a bundle of uncomfortable feelings he couldn’t deal with, didn’t want to deal with. He tried to tell himself over and over again that maybe she had only held onto the wreck to get to the bottom of what happened, that she was doing her own research.  
  
But if she did, why wouldn’t she tell her husband about it? Why was Walter suddenly moving to the other end of the country? A lot of uncomfortable questions were crowded inside Oliver without a single answer in sight, and that made it impossible for him to look into his mother’s eyes.  
  
Keeping his face as expressionless as possible, he said. “I’ll be there tomorrow for your party, Thea.”  
  
Instantly, tension grabbed Thea. “That’s not what I mean—and you know it.”  
  
Oliver sighed. “Thea....”  
  
“What’s going on with you and mom? It’s really unfair that I have to be the one who has to look after her! Because since Walter’s in New York, she’s not good. And I don’t even know what’s going on between them!” She narrowed her eyes at her brother. “Do you know?”  
  
“No,” Oliver leaned forward on the couch. “I haven’t talked to Walter since he helped me buy this building.”  
  
“Which you turned into a fortress by the way.” Thea shook her head and was about to say more when the landline rang.  
  
Bringing his arm back, Oliver reached for the phone. “Yes.”  
  
“Mr. Queen, this is Brad from the reception.” Brad Foster, Oliver mentally pulled up his application sheet: recommended by Diggle, ex-marine, black belt Aikido master, only survivor of a suicide bombing hitting his patrol near Jalalabad, lost his left thumb, engaged to a florist working downtown. (Felicity including the latter in the file was typically her. Oliver memorizing it was typically him.) “I’m calling to inform you that Ms. Miles is on her way up. She seems a little distressed.”  
  
Instinctively, Oliver’s eyes snapped to the nearest clock: 6:54 p.m. Felicity said she’d be home around seven. “Thank you.”  
  
“You’re welcome, sir.”  
  
“Did you get bad news?” Thea asked as Oliver ended the call. “You look like you bit into a lemon—and I know lemon-face is never good news.”  
  
“Felicity’s best friend’s on her way up.”  
  
“OH!” Thea smiled. “I’ve never met her.”  
  
“Apparently, she’s distressed.” He didn’t know what that meant exactly, but it didn’t sound good. Getting off the couch, Oliver motioned to Thea’s cellphone. “Would you please text Felicity that she needs to hurry?”  
  
Not waiting for his sister to say anything, he walked to the door and opened it in time to hear the distinctive “pling” of his elevator.  
  
Brad Foster had been generous when he had called Kristina “a little distressed.” The brunette was drenched in tears as she hurried toward him. Her eyes were puffy and red, her nose was running, and she was taking a gulping breath as the tears seemed to close her throat. She choked out an “Oliver” and fell into his arms.  
  
Oliver stood there and – not knowing what else to do – awkwardly closed his arms around her. His brain told him that he should say something, but it didn’t give him any hint on what to say and he didn’t think that a ‘there, there’ would do.  
  
A soft bump sounded from the door to their right. Oliver knew that sound meant Mrs. McKenna was failing to look though the peephole inconspicuously. That spurred him into action. He loosened his hold on the sobbing Kristina. “Hey,” he said, because that was always a good thing to say, “let’s go inside, okay?”  
  
The fact that Kristina silently let go and walked past him worried him more than her disheveled state. He was closing the door when he heard his sister’s voice from the main room. “God, what happened to you?”  
  
The chocked out words that followed gave Oliver the impression that his bad feeling about Demarion had been more than justified.  
  
Thea sounded honestly taken aback when she asked for clarification, “In your bed?”  
  
“Yeeehhheees.”  
  
When Oliver entered the main room he saw Thea hugging Tina and wondered how girls did that—that unquestioning compassion. Those two had never met before. A little helpless, Oliver stood in doorway, digging his brain for something to do or say. He reached for his cell phone and sent Felicity a message he had never sent before: 911 at home.  
  
Thankfully Felicity always had her phone on her. Not even twenty seconds later, his phone vibrated with her answer: almost there.  
  
Relieved, he put his phone away and suddenly he knew what to do. A minute later, when he sat down adjacent to the two women, he had a bottle of red wine and a glass with him. He filled it more than his mother would approve of and held it out to his wife’s best friend. “Here.”  
  
His voice got Kristina’s attention. Letting go of Thea, she reached for the glass—and emptied it with worrying ease. She held the empty glass out to him. “Hit me, hubby.”  
  
Since Oliver still didn’t know what to say, he did as he was told.  
  
Thea mouthed a silent “Wow!”  
  
Kristina noticed. “Awesome first impression, I know.” Her voice was hoarse from crying. “But I just caught my boyfriend with what’s apparently his new girlfriend of two weeks.”  
  
Thea looked appropriately appalled. “What an asshole!”  
  
“I’d use a stronger expletive, but you’re underage.” Kristina took another mighty gulp from her wine.  
  
The problem was that The Hood didn’t target unfaithful boyfriends. Putting the fear of God into Demarion seemed like an absolutely perfect idea, but he couldn’t follow this instinct because the crushing debt Demarion was in proved that at least the little fucker hadn’t done anything illegal—that usually paid well. Sadly, this left Oliver with the wish to do something without knowing what. He felt useless—and then unbelievable relief when he heard a key being turned in the door. Thank God! Felicity was good with shit like that.  
  
“What’s the emergency?” Felicity called from the hall.  
  
“I am!” Tina called back.  
  
Her high heels clicked on the wooden floor as Felicity rushed to the main room. “Wha—” Seeing the state her best friend was in, she stopped in her tracks for a second. Realization crossed her face. It was accompanied by an “I tol—” Felicity actually bit her lip to stop herself from finishing that sentence. Without saying one more word, she rushed to the couch and hugged her best friend, who crumbled against Felicity’s shoulder. Taking over from Thea, who made room for the blonde to sit, Felicity’s hand moved in comforting circles over Kristina’s back as she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”  
  
Nodding against her friend’s shoulder, Tina cried.  
  
Thea slowly got up from the couch. “I think I should leave.” Glancing at Kristina, she added, “I’m sorry about your boyfriend.”  
  
Felicity sent the younger girl a small smile over the shoulder of her crying friend. “Bye, Thea. We’ll see each other tomorrow. All ready to party with you, birthday girl!”  
  
A grin that looked so youthful and genuine shown from Thea’s face. Oliver really wished his sister would smile like that more often—or that anything he said would cause such a wonderful smile, but he had rarely managed that since he came back.  
  
Oliver got up from the couch and accompanied his sister to the door. “I’m sorry we have to cut this short, but we’ll be there for the party tomorrow.” Inhaling noisily, he collected courage and brought both his hands to Thea’s shoulders, stopping her from opening the door. “Thea, I want you to know that I’m always here to talk.... If something’s bothering you, you can come to me. And I’ll try to talk to mom tomorrow.”  
  
Thea did smile then, smaller than before, but it made Oliver’s heart a little lighter. She hugged him. “Thank you.”  
  
“Always, Thea.”  
  
He didn’t close the door until his sister entered the elevator. Sobbing sounded from the main room. It left Oliver feeling uncomfortable. This was his home but he felt like he was intruding, like he had no business being here when Kristina poured her heart out to Felicity. A small part of him was willing to admit that he simply didn’t know how to handle the emotional overload that was happening in his living room. Another part that shamefully was bigger than the first couldn’t help but think that that probably meant that Felicity wouldn’t break the encryption on the security fob tonight. He hated that that seriously annoyed him and decided that, even if Felicity didn’t join him tonight, he should go to the Foundry. He should tell Felicity that he was leaving.  
  
The sobbing was now accompanied by sniffling. Following a sudden instinct, Oliver got a box of tissues and walked into the main room. He put the box on the coffee table, getting the women’s attention. Kristina let go of Felicity and reached for a tissue. Noisily, she blew her nose. Before Oliver could say his goodbye, the brunette spoke up. “Felicity, how’s it possible that even when you’re a completely wasted, not-yet-fully-legal college kid, your man-choosing abilities are better than mine when I’m sober and grown-up?” She gestured to Oliver with the hand that held onto the used tissue. “That’s so unfair!” Kristina complained, hiccupping. “I really thought Demarion and I could be something. I cannot stand one more meaningless date, really, I can’t. Look at my sister! She’s two years younger than me and her boyfriend proposed on Christmas Eve.”  
  
Felicity’s voice was soft. “Really? Why didn’t you tell me?”  
  
“Because I wasn’t ready to make jokes about how cheesy it is that he did it on Christmas Eve. And because you and hubby finally stopped being stupid and because I wanted Demarion to work, even though I knew he couldn’t and thank you for not letting the ‘I told you so’ I deserve slip.”  
  
“Oh, Tina.” Felicity looked at her best friend, and Oliver could see that she was searching for words. Finally, she settled for, “Proposing on Christmas Eve is like a bad romance novel. It’s overkill. Only people who need to compensate for something do that.”  
  
“Yeah, he probably has a small dick.”  
  
A snort escaped Felicity. “I didn’t mean sexual compensating. I meant the emotional kind—which is worse.”  
  
“Yes, I know Tim’s such a—” A sob escaped Kristina. “I’m such a horrible person! Rachel and Tim are in love and I should be happy for them. But I’m just a jealous old hag whose biological clock is ticking and who’s willing to settle. Which I _hate!_ I don’t want to be like that. I don’t want to just take anybody. I want to have what you and hubby have.” She gestured to Oliver and grabbed a new tissue. “Okay, hugging him is like hugging a brick wall – that seriously makes me question abs, which is like the lowest point of an incredibly low day – but he’s been missing for five years and still he’s better person to be with than any of the guys I was with during that time.”  
  
“Tina,” Felicity reached for her best friend’s hand. “I won’t give you the ‘it will happen when you least expect it’ speech, because that one sucks and is just not helpful. And I won’t tell you that you’re too good to just settle—even though that one is true. But I _will_ tell you that it’s okay to be angry right now, because you should be angry at Demarion. He’s the worst—and you’re the best. That never could have worked. And it’s okay to be petty and to feel sorry for yourself.” She smiled. “But you and I both know that you’ll hate yourself for questioning abs once you think clearly, so you should really watch what you’re saying about that.”  
  
A teary laugh flew from Kristina’s lips.  
  
Brushing Kristina’s thick brunette locks out of her face, Felicity said. “It’s also okay to empty the bottle of wine and start on the next one with my help and to crash in our guest room.” She turned to look at Oliver, who nodded his consent. Because, really, how could he disagree? Kristina had always been there for the woman he loved. How could he not repay her for that—especially when he had come to care about Tina, too? Getting the unspoken request he turned and walked into the kitchen.  
  
From behind him he heard Kristina speak up. “Your sister-in-law has the worst first impression of me.”  
  
“Don’t worry about it.” Felicity dismissed. “Lately Thea’s been pretty good at leaving an impression herself.”  
  
“I feel so stupid.” Kristina admitted. “He’s been dating this other girl for _two weeks_.”  
  
“You said something was off,” Felicity reminded.  
  
“But I dismissed it, because I wanted him to be the one. I want to find the one! Seriously, I can’t help delivering another baby and watch the happy couple gloat and kiss and cry tears of joy. It’s resentful and awful and I wish I could stop feeling like this, but I can’t. I’m so envious! It makes me hate my job.”  
  
Oliver placed the wineglass he had gotten for Felicity on the coffee table and reached for the bottle. When he set it down again, it was nearly empty. He met Felicity’s eyes. “I’ll hit the gym.” That was their code for the Foundry. “I’ll be back later.”  
  
Kristina was already reaching for her glass. “You’re a good guy, hubby. Seriously. On that island of yours, were there other guys you could recommend to me?”  
  
Oliver couldn’t help the mental inventory that this question triggered and that started with Slade Wilson (of all people), included Yao Fei, Edward Fryers, and Anthony Ivo, and only ended somewhere with Anatoly Knyazev. “Sorry,” he said, forcing his voice to be even. “Deserted island didn’t include much company.”  
  
“Just my luck.” Kristina huffed and took a huge gulp of her drink.  
  
Oliver met Felicity’s knowing glance. They shared a moment of silent understanding before Oliver saw remembrance enter Felicity’s gaze. She dug into the pocket of the coat she had never taken off and took a thumb drive out. “Here. I managed to get to the information. Please, be careful.” She smiled, proof that the positive surprise capturing Oliver was visible on his face—or at least visible enough for her to notice it. “You’re welcome.”  
  
He took the USB drive and leaned in for a short peck. “You’re remarkable.”  
  
“AY!” Tina said. “Would you two just stop being all cute when I’m bathing in self-pity here, thankyouverymuch!”  
  
“Sorry.” He dug his brain for something to say and finally settled for, “Demarion’s an idiot.”  
  
Kristina shrunk even more on the couch. “Please, don’t let him DJ at the club!”  
  
“ _Never!_ ” Oliver promised forcefully and, after one last weak smile to Kristina, headed toward the hall.  
  
“Seriously,” Oliver heard Kristina say as he left the main room. “I never knew muscles were that _hard_. He’s like a rock.”  
  
“I like it,” Felicity answered. “It makes me feel safe.”  
  
An involuntary smile curved Oliver’s lips upward as he heard that and decided that this was the perfect time to make a run for it. It was time to check what Felicity had found.  
  
  
  
**January 26 th, 2013**  
  
Waiting for your birthday to celebrate your birthday was something only poor people did.  
  
Felicity knew that her own mother would have never allowed her to throw a birthday party the weekend _before_ her actual birthday. But Moira Queen wasn’t Donna Smoak – in about every aspect imaginable – and so Felicity followed Oliver through a crowd of overexcited teenagers on a Saturday to celebrate Thea’s birthday two days before she actually turned eighteen.  
  
Colorful lights flashed in sync with the beat of a song Felicity had never heard. The music blared out of the speakers at a deafening volume. But it was clear that Felicity wasn’t the target audience of this thing: the kids around her danced enthusiastically, decorated with glow sticks in the form of chains and bracelets. Felicity’s last birthday had been a cozy dinner with Tina, Tak, and chocolate cheesecake. That had been pretty perfect to Felicity—God, she was turning old in her mid-twenties.  
  
As if appearing out of thin air, Thea suddenly popped up in front of them. Her grin seemed to spread from one ear to the other as she waved her hand in front of Oliver’s face, showing off the keys she held onto. “Look. LOOK!” It should be impossible, but her grin turned even bigger. “Convertible!”  
  
Teasingly, Oliver said, “You must be so surprised.”  
  
Thea threw her arms around her brother. The force of the hug made Felicity to wince, but she suppressed the instinct to tell Thea to be careful. She could hardly tell the younger girl about the mean bruise covering Oliver’s side, the result of crashing to the ground after being hit by a _grenade_.  
  
Felicity was married to a man who believed that knowing he had used the lid of a trashcan as a shield against the blast would be calming.  
  
Felicity was now married to a man who knew that it _wasn’t_.  
  
Oliver had been so lucky that Kristina was in the guestroom – sleeping exhaustedly after too many tears and too much wine – or she would have been even more thorough in her explanation that, when she had told him to be careful, the request to avoid grenade launchers all together was an integral part.  
  
Letting go of her brother, Thea hugged Felicity next. “Happy birthday, Thea.”  
  
“I’m so glad you came!” Thea gushed and Felicity couldn’t help but feel like the exuberance might not all be natural.  
  
The expression on Oliver’s face showed Felicity that he had the same suspicion, so she quickly lifted the present into Thea’s line of vision. “We came with gifts. Or rather a gift. I wanted to wait ‘til Monday to give it to you, but then I thought we couldn’t show up empty-handed.”  
  
“Oh, oh, oh!” Thea clapped. Her eyes were shining as she took the small package and carelessly ripped the wrapping paper off. “Oh my God.” Thea’s shone with happiness. “They’re beautiful.”  
  
They were. The earrings were very pretty—they also were kind of impersonal, which was the kind of gift that Felicity disliked giving to people who mattered. But after days of wracking her brain, Felicity hadn’t been able to come up with anything that might make the statement she was hoping for. Of course, Oliver hadn’t been any help at all. Even though, he had been the one to suggest jewelry, pointing out that for his sister – who wished for nothing more than a convertible for her birthday – pretty and expensive gifts were perfect. This had rang really hollow in Felicity’s ears, but Thea’s reaction proved him right.  
  
Felicity smiled. “I’m glad you like them!”  
  
“Thank you!” She hugged first Felicity and then her brother. “Oh, isn’t everything absolutely perfect!” Thea hesitated for the barest moment before adding, “Except Dad isn’t here. And Walter didn’t come either. He called and said he was sorry, but—” Felicity could practically see Thea step onto the mental breaks to stop talking. Instead, the wide smile returned. “But who cares, right? We’re here to party!”  
  
“Thea—” Felicity started, but was interrupted by a squeal from Thea.  
  
“HEY!” She cheered and rushed to greet two girls about her age.  
  
Felicity knew that this would be the worst time to confront Thea, and that it really shouldn’t be her confronting Thea but Oliver. This knowledge was the reason why she pushed the urge to follow the younger girl down. But it didn’t change the fact that she felt like she was witnessing a disaster in the making. Thea and she had spent more time together in the last four months than they had in the last five years, but that didn’t mean that they were particularly close. The age difference was one reason for that, the completely different lives and interests were another; not to forget the fact that there were some important things going on in Felicity’s life that Thea couldn’t know about. All of this didn’t change the fact that Felicity cared about Thea and that she worried about her. As did Oliver, she knew. He would have to step up and do something about this. Sadly, Felicity didn’t exactly know what the best move was, but something, anything had to be done.  
  
Turning to tell him that he couldn’t push the talk he had been avoiding for weeks back much longer, Felicity realized that Oliver had left her side and was walking over to the doorframe where John Diggle stood. The way Oliver squared his shoulders showed Felicity that he was turning on his vigilante vibe. His body seeped with tension, then his muscles flexed, his face turned harder, his eyes colder, and his mouth tightened. Thea, she realized, was far from his mind right now.  
  
Following him across the room, Felicity joined the two men standing close to each other, talking just loudly enough that they could hear each other over the music.  
  
“I was with Gaynor the whole time it was going down,” John said.  
  
The ‘it’ referenced an armored car heist with grenade launchers and tear gas. It was a lot of meaning to be attached to such a little pronoun. It turned even bigger in Felicity’s mind since the things going down involved Oliver being hit, but she kept from adding this to the conversation because she could imagine the look Oliver would sent her way if she did. She saw it clearly enough in her head to want to spare herself the real-life-version.  
  
“Seems like you were right,” Oliver said, but the tension in his body told Felicity that he wasn’t really convinced the words leaving his lips were true.  
  
“But somebody from Blackhawk’s involved,” Felicity added. “The data from the security fob proves it.”  
  
Slowly, John nodded. “My money is on Knox. He started right before the heists began and he has military training.”  
  
“Okay.” The tension filling Oliver vibrated in his voice. “I injured one. He was bleeding badly when they made off in the van.”  
  
“If any blood is on the back of any of the motor pool vans, we’ll know.” John turned to leave, but stopped instantly as he noticed Oliver moving to follow him. “I told you, I can handle this on my own.”  
  
“But you don’t have to,” Oliver countered.  
  
Unaffected, John shook his head. “You have this party.” He gave a slight wink with his head. “Celebrate with your sister. Dance with your wife. If anything happens, you’re just a phone call away.”  
  
Not waiting for Oliver’s approval, John turned around but was nearly instantly stopped by Oliver’s hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” Oliver said getting the other man’s attention. “Head on a swivel.”  
  
Diggle nodded. “That’s the way I was born, man.”  
  
With that he left and Oliver placed his full attention on Felicity, who frowned. “What does that mean? Head on a swivel?”  
  
“You don’t know?” A dim smile showed on Oliver’s face. “Did I honestly find the one area you’re not an expert in?”  
  
That could only mean one thing. “It’s a sports metaphor.”  
  
He chuckled. “It is. It means to always be alert and always look out.”  
  
“Did you mean John or yourself?” Seeing the confused look on his face, it was Felicity’s turn to smile. “I noticed you planting a bug on John. Is was hardly subtle.”  
  
His shoulders fell a little, but he didn’t even try to deny it. “There’s something off about Gaynor. I’m sure of it. And even if he was with Diggle last night during the heist, I don’t trust him.” He reached into his pocket and got his cell out. “And I don’t think you have any right to complain: you programmed the software.”  
  
Felicity watched as he tapped on the icon on the display (she always made sure to make things easy for her digitally challenged vigilante) and attached headphones to his cell. “So, does that mean you won’t dance with me?”  
  
“No,” Oliver slipped his cellphone into the inside pocket of his suit, “I’m perfectly capable of multitasking.”  
  
“Which means dancing and eavesdropping.”  
  
“Exactly.” He held his hand out to her. “Plus, Diggle needs at least fifteen minutes to get from here to Blackhawk headquarters. Means I have some time to spare.”  
  
Felicity laughed. “Oliver Queen, you know how to woo a lady.” Playfully, she shook her head at him. “Thanks for the offer, but I really don’t feel like dancing.” She motioned to the gathered crowd. “I don’t even have a glow stick.”  
  
Oliver’s hand dropped again. “Thank God,” he breathed in relief. “I’m ten years too old for that.”  
  
“But since you have some time to spare, you could talk to your mother.”  
  
“I’ll talk to her once I know Diggle is all right.” He stood close to her and brought his lips to her neck, placing a soft kiss there. “I’ll also talk to Thea tomorrow.”  
  
The corners of Felicity’s mouth lifted into a small smile and she agreed with a nod. She might be noticing his little tells, but so did he. Placing her hand on his stomach, she turned to him and kissed him. “Thank you.”  
  
He just nodded and let his eyes sweep over the dancing people. “Do you see Thea somewhere?”  
  
“She’s dancing over there with her girlfriends.”  
  
Thea was still dancing twenty minutes later when Oliver’s hand flew to the earplug in his right ear. His face twisted and his lips pressed together forcefully. “They have Carly,” was the only explanation Oliver forced out before pecking Felicity’s lips and rushing out of the room.  
  
Felicity watched him leave while fighting the urge to tell him to be careful and stay away from stray grenades. That probably wasn’t the smartest thing to call out through a crowded room.  
  
Restlessness captured Felicity. She hated this, being reduced to waiting and worrying, to standing on the sidelines without knowing what exactly was going on. With her glass of Diet Coke in hand, Felicity left the main party room and headed up the stairs in search for a place to hide until Oliver called her to tell her that everybody was fine and safe and uninjured.  
  
“Where did Oliver rush off to?”  
  
Great, that was the very opposite of hiding, Felicity thought, but managed a smile to greet Moira who stood by the balustrade, looking down on the dancing people.  
  
“Home. I think I left the coffeemaker on.” That was stupid excuse, Felicity reasoned without any possibility to take it back. “He’s making sure we won’t burn the building down. Especially since it’s his now. Or ours.” Felicity flinched. “Not that I’d approve of burning down somebody else’s building. I’m very anti-fire in general.” Inwardly, Felicity chided herself for letting this ramble slip. She was supposed to have moved past this with Moira, but her mother-in-law had caught her by surprise. Feeling uneasy, Felicity stopped next to the older woman.  
  
Moira Queen, on the other hand, was all poise, as always. “I see. I will admit that I was doubtful about Oliver’s decision to buy the building. But it seems like my dismissal of his worries was somewhat premature.” Her hands on the balustrade, she tipped her head slightly, causing the perfectly placed blonde hair to fall to the side, and studied Felicity. “How are you?”  
  
Felicity realized that she must be hearing things, because she thought she heard honest concern in Moira’s voice. “I’m fine, thank you.”  
  
Moira’s eyes traveled over Felicity’s face, no doubt taking in the fading bruises on her jaw and the tiny scar still healing through her eyebrow. “It must have been a horrible experience.”  
  
“It—” She swallowed. “It was.” Felicity left it at that because she couldn’t say anything else about it. Only last night she had woken up drenched in sweat, the gunshots ringing in her ears, mixing with the crashing of her front door. The fear she had felt when she had tried to escape into the bathroom returned in those nights. It cut off her ability to breathe and made her heart drum in her chest. Only Oliver’s strong hands were able to calm her then, along with his presence and his scent which radiated safety to her. The nightmares were getting fewer, but she had felt unpleasantly vulnerable and helpless that day and that feeling had been particularly scary. It was an unwelcome and unexpected weakness she disliked—and that she couldn’t share with Moira, of all people.  
  
Even though, Felicity’s short answer probably gave the other woman a very good idea of how she was feeling about all of this. Her eyes held a softness Felicity had rarely seen as she said, “I’m very sorry, Felicity. That you had to experience that.”  
  
Slowly, Felicity nodded. She couldn’t help but feel suspicious about the rare display of compassion. “Thank you. Luckily, it all ended well.”  
  
“Yes,” Moira said. “I know many people are scared of The Hood, but he has done a lot of good for this family.”  
  
“Well, yes, he saved Oliver once and me twice. It’s hard to find fault in that.”  
  
“Indeed. Many of our associates haven’t been so lucky....” She turned to look at Felicity. The serious expression grabbed Felicity’s attention; Moira’s eyes seemed to be drilling into the younger woman. “You need to be careful, Felicity. You and Oliver, both. People are nervous about The Hood, people that you don’t want to anger.”  
  
Paranoia crawled up Felicity’s spine. Why would Moira say that? Why would she tell her that? Did she suspect anything? She couldn’t. She shouldn’t. Felicity forced herself to keep a neutral expression while her heart beat up to her throat. “I don’t want to anger anybody.” That reaction was too defensive, she decided, and tried again. “Moira, what’s going on? Why are you so spooked?” As the last word tumbled from Felicity’s lips she couldn’t help but think that even if the word shouldn’t be dignified enough to describe anything related to Moira Queen, it fit perfectly.  
  
Her mother-in-law was scared, honestly scared.  
  
In an attempt to hide her uneasiness, the older woman straightened up and lifted her chin. “Felicity, I know that we don’t always see eye to eye, but I know that you understand the necessity to do what you feel is best for your children. Trust me that that’s what I’m doing.”  
  
“By doing what?”  
  
“By everything I do.” She took two steps. Felicity thought Moira would walk past her, but she stopped next to her and said, without looking at the other blonde, “I know you have a lot to do with your company, Felicity. I think it would be good to place your sole attention on that for now.”  
  
Felicity stared after the other woman as she walked away from her. This had to be both the most coded and the most open conversation Felicity and Moira Queen had ever shared, and it left a bitter taste in Felicity’s mouth. It was accompanied by the distinct feeling that she didn’t really know what had been said. It felt like, even though she had understood the words, she hadn’t grasped the real meaning because she had different information from Moira. Was this Moira’s way of telling her that she knew Oliver was The Hood? Was this Moira’s way of telling her that she knew that Felicity knew about the wreck? Was this Moira’s way of telling her... what? Great, the clarifying conversation had raised more questions than had been answered. To top it off, Felicity didn’t even want to imagine Oliver’s reaction once she told him about this.  
  
Sighing, she turned toward the balustrade and looked down on the dancing people. The kids were a jumping, arm-waving, glowing, jerking mess. Felicity remembered her own eighteenth birthday. She had gotten a homemade cake from her mother, which had been awesome, and her ear pierced. Subconsciously, her hand flew to her right ear and the bar that spread across the shell. Her mom had held her hand as Felicity had faced her fear of needles. She might be getting too old for this, it might not be becoming for the CEO of a company, but it was a fond memory that Felicity wasn’t willing to let go of.  
  
Felicity’s birthday might not have been as big and expensive and newsworthy as this party, but Felicity couldn’t help but feel like her celebration had been better than this. Her eyes swept the crowd, but Felicity could find neither Thea nor the two girls she had been with before.  
  
An uncertain sense of worry captured Felicity. Thea had been pretty high before, she shouldn’t add more to her system.  
  
Anger awoke in Felicity as this thought crossed her mind. If Moira wanted to keep her children safe she should stop whatever she thought she was doing and finally place her attention on her daughter. _That_ would be helpful. Not those suspect warnings that basically made Felicity fear for the worst.  
  
Oliver couldn’t push it back any longer, she decided. He had to man up and confront his mother. If he wasn’t blown up by a grenade right about now, she’d make him talk to her tonight. Following this thought, Felicity glanced at her phone. Oliver had been gone for nineteen minutes. It was too early to worry.  
  
Oliver and she had been too distracted to focus on things they really needed to focus on. She was sugarcoating it, even in her own head, because they had only been too glad to let themselves be distracted. John finding out about Oliver, the start of their relationship, the kidnapping, the Bratvas, a favor for John, and the list – always the stupid list – had kept them distracted from the wreck. Felicity was absolutely certain that the damn leftovers of that damn boat were the key to most of the mysteries she hadn’t solved yet. And Moira....  
  
The phone vibrating in her hand cut through Felicity’s thoughts. A wave of relief rushed through her as she saw Oliver’s picture in the display. “Hey.”  
  
She had to press her cell against her ear and listen closely to make out what he was saying over the music. But what she heard made her smile. “It’s all done, I’m fine. I avoided all grenades.”  
  
“Good to know that you listen to your wife.”  
  
“Always. I’m on my way back.”  
  
“You need to talk to your mother. I just had the most confusing conversation _ever_ with her. And I once talked to her about forks for thirty minutes. I swear I still can’t tell a fruit fork from a dessert fork and I never managed to identify a fish fork correctly.”  
  
“Dessert forks are even smaller than fruit forks.”  
  
Felicity blinked. The image of Oliver riding his bike, hooded up, his bow braced on the handle bars, saying that sentence popped in her mind. She smiled brightly against her phone.  
  
He cleared his throat. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.”  
  
“Okay,” she was about to say more, when suddenly Moira raced toward her. Looking at her mother-in-law in question, she said, “Oliver, hold up.”  
  
“We have to go to Starling City General,” Moira’s voice was unusually high. “Thea’s been in an accident.”  
  
  
  
**January 27 th, 2013**  
  
Oliver had hurried down the halls of this hospital too often lately.  
  
Twice this month he had entered Starling City General with his heart beating heavily: after Felicity had been kidnapped and yesterday, after his sister had crashed her car into a tree.  
  
She was lucky that she hadn’t hurt or killed anybody—like herself, the two girls she had been taking for a spin in her new car, or any member of the family whose van she had nearly forced off the road driving in the wrong lane. His mother had acted as if that had been an honest mistake, but everybody gathered around the hospital bed knew that it had been a mistake made in a drugged up mind.  
  
How was it possible that Thea drove under the influence of whatever, and Oliver was the one who ended up being lectured?  
  
The atmosphere at home last night had been tense. Oliver knew that Felicity had a point: yes, he had avoided talking to his mother. Yes, the things his mother had said to Felicity begged many worrisome questions. Yes, Thea needed help. Felicity was right. Oliver agreed. But the agreement ended right there. Because Oliver was of the strong opinion that Thea mostly needed a swift kick in the ass after what had happened last night. He had been supportive after the whole drunk-at-school-incident and that hadn’t helped shit. What was necessary for his sister to wake up?  
  
They hadn’t found an answer to this.  
  
But they had agreed on the next steps: Felicity was to call Walter to try to get him to tell her what the hell was going on. And Oliver was going to ask his mother some uncomfortable questions later today. But first he would keep the supportive-brother-act up and bring Thea home, which was why he was walking to her hospital room right now. He was about to reach for the handle when the door opened from within, revealing a sight that stunned Oliver so much that he forgot to breathe for a second. But he shook the shock off nearly instantly. “What’s going on here?”  
  
“Ollie,” Thea’s eyes were huge with fear, “they arrested me.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Oliver fixed a threatening glare on the uniformed man who was holding on to the handcuffs locking his sister’s arms behind her back.  
  
“Miss Queen tested positive for Vertigo.”  
  
Oliver felt like somebody had gutted him. “That drug from the Glades?” He stared at Thea. That was worse than anything he had feared.  
  
“Your sister’s under arrest for driving under the influence of narcotics.” With that, the policeman pushed Thea forward, forcing Oliver to take a step back and out of the way.  
  
“It’s gonna be okay,” he tried to assure his baby sister as she was led past him. “I’ll contact our lawyers and come down to the station. Don’t say a thing, you hear me!”  
  
“Ollie,” she looked at him with pleading huge eyes filled with fear of the unknown, but she managed a nod. “Okay.”  
  
“It’s gonna be okay,” he repeated, slipping into supportive-brother-mode without realizing or questioning it, because when he had thought that Thea needed a swift kick in the butt, arrest had never been on his mind.


	24. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry, I know I made you wait a little longer than usual. But, you know, work and life and stuff. So, let me thank you all for your patience, your investment in this story, and your overall awesomeness. I am grateful that so many of you took the time to leave me a comment.  
> I understood some of you thought the last chapter was very long. I agree that a lot happened; it was much to take in. I hope when looking back to the previous chapter as the story progresses you’ll agree with me that all scenes had a purpose. The same’s true for this chapter.
> 
> A tight hug to **Albiona** who's smart, intelligent, clever, and wordy enough to help out with uncounted synonyms for stupid. ;) Thank you for your overall awesome-ness.
> 
> Also, a heartfelt shout-out to all the wonderful people who left kudos. Love, Jules

**January 30 th, 2013**  
  
Thea’s fingers were shaking too much to braid her hair.  
  
From her position in the doorframe Felicity watched the girl flail her hands as if the rapid movement would counteract the unwanted jittering. Compassion took hold of Felicity as she watched the scene. Thea had very good reason to be nervous: a DUI while on probation couldn’t end well. It was a small miracle and a testament to the power of the Queen name plus the expensive lawyers Moira had hired that Thea wasn’t in jail already. **  
  
** The tremors in her hands and the sag in her shoulders showed clearly that Thea knew. There could be many things said about Thea Queen, but she wasn’t stupid.  
  
No, Felicity thought, she’s an eighteen year old girl who’s terrified of what’s about to happen. She stepped into the room, “Hi.”  
  
Startled, Thea shot around to face her. “Felicity, hi. I wanted to braid my hair. I thought that would make a good impression—and look cute, of course. The judge can’t sue me for wanting to look cute.”  
  
“Wow,” Felicity smiled softly. “Things must be bad if you’re beginning to sound like me. Even though, despite your rambling potential, there’s still room for improvement.”  
  
Thea appreciated the effort to lighten the mood, the forced smile proved that, but she was too tense for it to really work. **  
  
** Felicity gestured to the bed. “Sit down, we’ll do the cliché thing where I braid your hair.”  
  
Thankfully, Thea nodded. Sinking down on the silky comforter, she turned her back to Felicity, who moved her hands through Thea’s long brown locks. **  
  
** Silence settled around them. It lasted long enough for Felicity to finish the first braid. She was starting on second one when Thea confessed, in a soft and barely audible voice. “I’m scared.” **  
  
** “I know,” Felicity answered gently. Her hands continued working.  
  
“I don’t want to go to jail.” Thea held a hair tie up.  
  
“I know. People are doing everything they can to avoid that.”  
  
“I deserve to go to jail.” **  
  
** “No,” Felicity said with emphasis, “you don’t.”  
  
“I could’ve hurt somebody. I just wanted to take my car for a spin, show off to my friends. I didn’t think.”  
  
“That doesn’t mean that you belong in prison, Thea.” She took the tie out of Thea’s hand. “You made a stupid mistake, there’s no denying that, but what’s really important is that you... get help. We’ll help you stay out of prison and then we’ll do that, okay?” She sighed and let her hands sink. “Seriously? Vertigo? That’s really ugly shit.”  
  
Thea, getting the hint that her hair was done, turned around to face Felicity. “It makes you feel all float-y. I like feeling light.”  
  
“Says the featherweight.” The mumble left Felicity’s lips before she could stop it.  
  
Thea ignored her and glanced at the door. “Where’s Ollie?” **  
  
** “Downstairs, talking to your mom and the lawyers.”  
  
“How come nobody talks to me?”  
  
“Okay, one: I’m not nobody,” Felicity smiled. “And, come on, you know what they’re like when they get in protective mode.”  
  
The frown darkening Thea’s face surprised Felicity. Realization hit her unprepared and hard, because that couldn’t, _shouldn’t_ be true. Thea didn’t know.  
  
Of course, she couldn’t know the whole extent of Oliver’s protectiveness and that he had devoted the previous nights solely on finding whoever was responsible for Vertigo. Last night he had finally gotten a name out of a drug pusher: The Count.  
  
John thought that was worse than The Hood. Oliver hadn’t commented on that, but Felicity had made it very clear that she stood by her creation. There were worse nicknames out there—and it was definitely better than “hood guy.”  
  
That discussion had happened around four in the morning and it hadn’t been their finest moment at an especially un-fine hour.  
  
Oliver was so in his vigilante-mind frame that he hadn’t noticed the time, wanting to keep going. Felicity had been about to put her foot down when John did so first, telling Oliver that it was enough for the night and that he needed to be there for Thea by _being there_ for Thea. He had used better words, but that was the basis of it. It had been downright paternal of John Diggle and Felicity had really enjoyed witnessing this scene. **  
  
** If Oliver got his wish, Thea would never find out about any of this, but Felicity couldn’t help being shocked at how clueless his sister actually was. A smile showed on Felicity’s face. It was time to let Thea in on a (pretty obvious) secret. She reached for the younger girl’s hand. “Thea, you’re an idiot. And I say that with fondness." **  
  
** “Oh,” Thea huffed, “if you say it fondly….” **  
  
** The smile was still on Felicity’s face. “I thought you’d noticed that your brother’s not too good with words. But he cares about you. More than he can say—literally.” **  
  
** Thea stared at the blonde woman opposite her. “What does that mean?”  
  
“It means that he prefers to use non-vocal communication. Speaking ‘Oliver-ian’ means interpreting gestures.” Felicity waved her hand through the air. “Like Oliver listening to you gushing about how much you want a convertible for your birthday. That’s an ‘I love you’ right there.”  
  
Thea frowned, contemplating. Finally, her eyes traveled back to Felicity. “He picked me up from school. And didn’t yell, not even when I threw up. He just opened the window.”  
  
(He had even taken Felicity’s Mini Cooper to the car wash to get the smell out—that was a clear declaration of love directed at Felicity. But she kept from adding that to the conversation.)  
  
An emphasizing nod was accompanied by playfully pursed lips. “There you go,” Felicity smirked. “I see you’re starting to break his code.”  
  
“He wasn’t like that before the island. That complicated,” Thea said defensively. “He just told people he liked them and was done with it.”  
  
“Yeah,” Felicity agreed. “But now he really means it—and he’s not done with it, ever.” **  
  
** Again, Thea took a moment to think. Then she smiled. “Sooo…” she stretched the word teasingly, “the building he bought and stuffed with security after the kidnapping is basically twenty-one stories of ‘I love Felicity’?”  
  
“Basically, yes.” **  
  
** “That’s kind of awesome,” Thea chuckled. The light mood vanished nearly instantly, replaced with a frown. Glancing at the door shortly, she leaned closer to the other female and whispered, “So, you’re really serious? He told mom you were. Like, married-couple-serious. You’re really my sister-in-law?” **  
  
** “We are, Thea. I am.” She squeezed Thea’s hand. “I’d also like to be your friend. Everything you’re going through, I’m here for you. We’re all here for you, and we love you.”  
  
Thea threw her arms around Felicity. The females hugged. When Felicity let go, she gestured to the other girl’s hair and smiled. “Have a look. Do you like it?” **  
  
** Thea moved to the mirror.  
  
“Do you think it looks cute but still appropriately put-together for the judge?” Felicity asked from the bed.  
  
Thea nodded and was about to answer when Oliver spoke up from the door. “Hey, we should get going. Judges don’t appreciate the value of being fashionably late.” **  
  
** Slowly Thea turned around and faced her brother, fond in a way Felicity had rarely seen. “Got any other tips?” **  
  
** “Let the lawyer do the talking,” Oliver said, slowly walking toward her. “They’ll give you a pen and a paper—but don’t play tic tac toe. Judges don’t appreciate that either.” **  
  
** “Good thing you’re so experienced with court hearings.” **  
  
** Oliver sighed heavily, obviously unhappy with the memories that brought. “It’ll be fine,” he assured her. “I’ve violated my parole. Got me community service. You’ll be fine.”  
  
Slowly, the young brunette nodded. “Thank you for coming with me.” **  
  
** Oliver put his hands on his sister’s shoulders. “Of course. There’s nowhere else I’d want to be.” **  
  
** Thea’s smile proved that she started getting the hang of understanding her brother.  
  
_________________________________ **  
  
  
** Oliver needed a moment alone, to collect himself, to keep the emotions in, and to fight the anger down. That judge had to be fucking kidding him! He was trying to make an example of Thea, probably trying to seem all no-tolerance and not intimidated by the Queen-name and the money and power that came with it. _Makes him seem like a real hard-ass, showing no tolerance to an eighteen year old girl_ , Oliver thought bitterly.  
  
His mother was making arrangements to pay bail: one million dollars. At least that sum was adequately low. Felicity was talking to Damian on the phone. Apparently, Thea’s arrest wasn’t good for business, either. Oliver exhaled carefully, trying to calm himself down and willing the image of his baby sister being led from the courtroom to a holding cell out of his mind _. She must be terrified_ , Oliver thought, and he knew he had to do something. **  
  
** Taking his own cell phone out, he dialed an encrypted number that wouldn’t leave a trace on his phone. He didn’t have the slightest idea how Felicity managed this jerk, but if she said nobody would be able to find out this call had happened, then he didn’t doubt her for one second.  
  
“Mr. Queen,” the heavy Russian accent hit his ears, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”  
  
“I need a meeting.”  
  
“Oh?” Alexi Leonov exaggerated disbelieve. “Haven’t we done enough for you lately, Mr. Queen?”  
  
They had. Oliver wasn’t above admitting that, because it was smart to show some humility. “вы сделали. I’m willing to invest and start paying back.”  
  
Leonov’s answer came with some delay. “Fine. Come by in two hours.”  
  
“Xорошо.” Not waiting for an answer, Oliver hung up. Already digging his brain for a way to break his plan to Felicity, he turned around and nearly crashed into Laurel Lance. Surprised, he blinked, but caught himself, hoping she hadn’t overheard his conversation. “Laurel, hey.”  
  
“Ollie.” She swallowed and needed a moment to find her voice back. “I’m sorry about Thea.”  
  
“You were in court? Sorry, I didn’t see you.”  
  
“No, I had a trial down the hall, but it’s hard to miss the news.” Shifting files from one arm to the other, she looked a little uncomfortable. “I don’t think Judge Brackett is willing to move off his position. Taking a hard line against criminals is a platform for his reelection.”  
  
“Thea’s hardly a criminal.” Some of the anger he was feeling crept into his voice. “She’s just a teenage girl.”  
  
“I know,” Laurel said.  
  
The compassion in her voice surprised him. This was the first calm conversation he had with her since he had returned to Starling City. Her eyes weren’t shooting angry daggers at him, her tone wasn’t hard or sarcastic, the inner aggressiveness that he had come to associate with her was gone. Instead, he saw sadness in her eyes.  
  
Her changed demeanor made sense to Oliver when Laurel confessed, “She reminds me of Sara. A young girl acting out, engaging in reckless behavior—the Lance family has been there.” **  
  
** Pressing his lips together, Oliver nodded and forced the thought away that Sara’s reckless behavior had ended badly, in the worst way possible.  
  
“For Sara it was shoplifting, among other things,” Laurel added.  
  
Oliver knew that he was among these ‘other things’ and decided to take a page out of Tommy Merlyn’s book. “Laurel, I know that nothing I say can make up for what happened. You’re right to reject my apologies, you don’t have to forgive me, you can be mad at me. But, please, know that Sara loved you. She regretted coming with me, and I regret taking her. I regret not being more honest with you, and if I could I’d do it all differently.”  
  
Laurel’s defenses were up instantly. “I will not apologize for anything I said.” **  
  
** Oliver sighed. “I’m not looking for an apology. _I_ don’t deserve one.”  
  
A moment of silence crept upon them. Laurel ended it with a statement that seemed pretty random to Oliver. “Sara was arrested for shoplifting and my father made it go away. Maybe he can cash in a chip with Judge Brackett. I’ll talk to him.”  
  
He looked at the brunette opposite him and suddenly he remembered the woman he had been with all those years ago. It was good to see that she was still in there, because secretly Oliver had started to wonder what Tommy saw in that spiteful woman he had come to know in the last few months. “Thank you,” he said softly and sincerely. “I really appreciate that. Your father talking to the judge could go a long way, get him from throwing the book at Thea.” **  
  
** “I can’t make any promises.”  
  
“Of course, but it’s nice of you to try. Thank you.”  
  
She sent him a small nod of acceptance. It also was her goodbye. He looked after her as she walked down the hall until he noticed Felicity approaching. Seeing the silent question on her face, he said, “Laurel offered to ask her father to talk to the judge.” **  
  
** The idea seemed completely foreign to Felicity. “What? Why?” **  
  
** “She says Thea reminds her of Sara.”  
  
Felicity stared at him for a moment. Then, her face twisted. “Damn it!” Her lips pursed in unhappiness. “That’s nice!” **  
  
** “It is,” Oliver agreed. “But it’s a long shot; getting Lance to do anything for a Queen is hardly realistic. We need to work on something on our end.”  
  
Suspicion took over Felicity’s face and voice, “What does that mean?” **  
  
** “I plan on using my Bratva pull to get into the business of selling Vertigo.” **  
  
** She frowned. “Why would The Hood start selling drugs?”  
  
“He wouldn’t. But Oliver Queen, the future club owner, would want to give his guests a little... extra. My Bratva connection is too valuable; I can’t risk losing it. I have to do this without hooding up.”  
  
“You—” she gasped for air. He simply stood there, waiting for the lecture she was summing up in her head as her hard glare nailed him down. Surprisingly, the break in conversation ended with her throwing her hands up. “You know what? _Fine_! I know nothing I say will change your mind so I’ll spare the breath.”  
  
He loved that woman. Honestly, he did. **  
  
** She pointed a threatening index-finger at him. “But don’t you dare go there alone. Take John.”  
  
He nodded. “Done.”  
  
  
  
**January 31 st, 2013**  
  
Felicity had promised herself to never ask Moira Queen for another favor. But for her best friend, she would break that promise. **  
  
** Softly knocking on Moira’s office door in Queen Mansion, Felicity caught the other woman’s attention and added a greeting, “Hello, Moira.” **  
  
** Her mother-in-law looked up from what she was reading and sent her a polite smile. “Felicity, I didn’t expect you.”  
  
“I know, I’m sorry. Laurel asked Oliver to meet her here, because apparently she has good news for Thea, and I’d like to discuss something with you if you have time.” **  
  
** “Of course,” Moira waved her in and rearranged the files on her desk. **  
  
** Walking toward Moira’s desk, Felicity couldn’t help but remember the last time she had been in this room, watching Starling City News while Oliver freed hostages and confronted the other archer. That had ended with Oliver calling her for help with the last of his strength, and Felicity racing out. Not exactly the fondest memory.  
  
Felicity forced herself to bury it deep. She also forced herself to approach this talk with her mother-in-law like she would approach any business meeting: calm, collected, and words reduced to the appropriate minimum.  
  
Felicity Queen sat down opposite Moira Queen and smiled slightly while gathering her thoughts. She had just decided on the first sentence she wanted to say when her mother-in-law spoke up first. “I’m glad you came by, Felicity. I have been meaning to call you and explain my behavior at Thea’s party.” Moira’s hands were carefully folded, resting on the tabletop. “It was a very emotional evening for me. My little girl celebrated her eighteenth birthday and I think I wasn’t quite myself.”  
  
“I—” Felicity had to stop right there, because she didn’t know how to continue the sentence. Moira had managed to mentally trip her, because she hadn’t come to talk about that seriously weird talk. All the carefully prepared words left Felicity’s mind. If Moira meant to quench her suspicions with that explanation, she had only achieved the opposite. **  
  
** Moira’s next statement made it worse. “I think it is best if we forget what was said.”  
  
“To be quite honest I’m not really sure _what_ was said, actually.” The words tumbled out of Felicity’s mouth before she could edit them. “Normally, I’m not too bad at reading between the lines, but I’m afraid you’ll have to spell this out for me: what exactly did we never talk about?”  
  
Moira sent Felicity the kind of smile you grant every dense person. “Good,” she said calmly. “I’m glad we cleared that up. So, what do you want to talk to me about?”  
  
Again, Felicity had to mentally switch gears. Now, she couldn’t remember her opening sentence. She sat up a little straighter in the uncomfortable, expensive chair. “The Robert Queen Memorial.” **  
  
** Moira frowned. “The health center we want to open in the Glades?”  
  
“Yes, that one. I heard that Malcolm Merlyn’s closing the free clinic down there and I wondered if the plan you and Walter came up with was still on. I mean, I know things between you and Walter aren’t— I mean, you’re not—” Felicity bit her lip. That was exactly the kind of awkward (if one-sided) exchange she wanted to avoid. “I’m sorry, I—” **  
  
** Moira spared her from having to search for words any longer. “Yes, Felicity, the center will open. We are in the last stages of renovations. Why?” **  
  
** “I want to ask you to consider my friend Kristina Miles as head nurse.” She reached for the folder poking out of her purse and handed it to Moira. “This is her résumé. I know it always comes with a stale taste to suggest a good friend for a position, but please believe me: I wouldn’t do this if I wasn’t convinced that Kristina is perfectly qualified. I’m absolutely positive that she’s up to the challenge and would do a great job. Ultimately, the decision’s up to you, of course. I’m just asking you to include her in possible interviews.” **  
  
** Moira opened the folder and scanned the papers. “Kristina…. If I remember correctly, she was the nurse attending to you during your labor.” **  
  
** “You remember correctly. She’s been working mostly in the maternity ward of Starling City General, but she has some experience in intermediate care. Recently, she switched to the emergency room and enrolled in team leadership classes.” Felicity motioned to the file. “Please know that she didn’t ask me. I suggested it, because I honestly believe that she could be an asset to the center.”  
  
“So, you’re speaking as a CEO and not as a best friend?” Moira challenged. **  
  
** Felicity chose to be honest. “I’m speaking as both.” **  
  
** A dim smile showed on the older blonde’s face that Felicity couldn’t quite place. “Of course, Felicity. We’ll contact her.” Closing the folder, she put it on the desk, shifting the other documents resting there in the process. **  
  
** “Thank you—” Felicity managed to say but the rest hitched in her throat. Not believing what she believed to have seen, Felicity stared at the desk as the door bell sounded in the background. **  
  
** “That must be Laurel,” Moira said and got up. **  
  
** Trying to cover the utter shock that caught her tongue, Felicity nodded agreement and practically jumped out of her seat. **  
  
** Moira smiled. “Let’s see what she wants.” Placing a hand on Felicity’s shoulder, she guided the younger woman out of her office, down the hall to the stairs. **  
  
** Felicity’s heart was beating heavily in her chest as she told herself that she had not seen what her eyes told her. Maybe, her glasses were dirty. That thought was so stupid, Felicity was slightly embarrassed of herself for allowing it. She forced herself to breathe and place one foot in front of the other. She forced her voice to stay even as she turned to Moira. Knowing that etiquette demanded her to say something—Moira had taught her that and for now Felicity liked sticking to well-known things to maneuver this situation. “Thank you for considering Kristina.” **  
  
** Also following etiquette, Moira smiled politely and nodded, “Of course.”  
  
Together the two women walked toward the living room. Laurel Lance’s voice could be heard in the hall, “The judge has agreed to a sentence of five-hundred hours of community service and two years of probation. Provisional on the appointment of someone to act in loco parentis.”  
  
Silence followed, then Thea’s voice. “In loco... what?”  
  
Moira and Felicity reached the door frame and stopped there. Felicity couldn’t help but think that Laurel looked especially smug as she said, “It means that the court will appoint an individual to assume responsibility for you.” It were petty thoughts, Felicity knew, because ultimately the things Laurel said were good. The woman really stepped up for Thea. Objectively, Felicity knew that. Subjectively, she detested the smile on Laurel’s face as she added a proud, “Me.”  
  
Thea, whose back was to the door where her mother and her sister-in-law stood, sounded unimpressed. “I say thanks, but no thanks.”  
  
“Thea.” Oliver said, annoyed. “You don’t actually have a choice.”  
  
“Oh, actually, I do,” Thea objected. “See, I’m eighteen now and I can make my own decisions. So I decide not to be your ex-girlfriend’s office monkey.”  
  
Felicity saw that Oliver was clinging to his patience. “You’re in real trouble, and rightly so. Doing drugs. And then driving? It’s beyond stupid.”  
  
“That doesn’t mean that I want charity from her after how she acted,” Thea motioned to the brunette opposite to her. “How do think Felicity’ll feel about this?”  
  
“She’s okay with it,” Felicity said and took a step into the living room, startling Thea whose head whipped around. The two females stared at each other. Felicity sent Thea a pointed look, meaning to tell the younger girl to quit being an idiot. But Thea either didn’t understand the pointed glance or she didn’t want to. Instead, she got up from the couch and walked toward the hall. Felicity sent Oliver, who reacted with a small, thankful nod, a quick glance and let her eyes brush over Laurel shortly. “Please, give us a moment.” **  
  
** Felicity met Thea in the hall and glared at her. “Thea, don’t be stupid,” she whispered.  
  
“I don’t want anything from her!” Thea whispered back, heatedly. “She’s a bitch!”  
  
Felicity knew she should object, but couldn’t bring herself to do so. “This is the solution we’ve been hoping for. And even though I’m grateful for what you’re trying to do, I won’t let you do it. I would be a bad friend if I did. Take the deal and the easy way out of this mess. I’m telling you to do it.” **  
  
** “You can’t tell me anything.”  
  
“I can tell that you’re mistaking stupidity for loyalty.”  
  
“Smartass.”  
  
“According to your brother that’s one of my best features,” Felicity deadpanned, but her quip didn’t get any positive response from Thea. “Do you really want to risk going to jail? Over Laurel Lance? Don’t make her matter that much, Thea. She doesn’t matter to me. But _you_ do.”  
  
They looked at each other. Finally, Thea rolled her eyes and headed back into the living room and stopped next to the couch. Avoiding direct eye-contact, she said flatly, “Laurel, thank you for your help. I appreciate it.”  
  
“So, you’re agreeing to be my... office monkey?” Laurel probably thought this was a playful comment, but to Felicity it didn’t seem exactly helpful. **  
  
** “Yes,” Thea lied. “With pleasure.”  
  
Growing up sucked. Felicity knew, and it seemed like Thea had learned that lesson, too.  
  
___________________________  
  
  
Felicity wondered how normal people spent their Thursday evenings.  
  
Her best friend was rebounding with a guy a colleague from work had set her up with. That counted as a normal activity, Felicity guessed. She also couldn’t help but feel like it was a pretty healthy thing to do. Yongtak had a dinner date with his boyfriend Christopher. That was such a normal thing to do that, for Tak, it bordered on worrisome behavior. It also was a reminder that Oliver and she had never gone to dinner together—and eating at Big Belly Burger didn’t count. The one time Oliver had actually suggested doing it, going out, Felicity had been kidnapped. **  
  
** There was no way in hell that could be normal. **  
  
** Moira and Thea spent their Thursday at home together. Apparently, Moira had asked her daughter to rekindle an old tradition. Before half of their family had been lost at sea, the Queen women had watched “It’s a Wonderful Life” every Christmas Eve. It may be way past Christmas, but the suggestion alone left Thea overjoyed. Felicity could only approve of the normalcy of this. Things for Thea were most definitely looking up.  
  
So, her friends and family members were doing perfectly healthy, normal stuff while Felicity sat in a cold secret cellar while the man she loved was out, meeting a dangerous drug lord with the help of the Russian mob. **  
  
** There had been worse Thursdays in Felicity Queen’s life. **  
  
** She should probably really worry about that.  
  
But she couldn’t, because she was worried about a little book she had seen on Moira Queen’s desk this afternoon. No matter how much she wished that her eyes or her dirty glasses or her mind or _anything_ had played tricks on her, she knew that she was only tricking herself. Felicity had seen the more battered version of this notebook enough times in the last months to recognize the perfectly clean example of it in the blink of an eye. And she had seen it lying on the heavy dark wood of Moira Queen’s desk: a notebook that looked like the one that contained the list—minus the dirt of five hellish years, of course.  
  
Her mother-in-law had hidden it under strategically placed papers, but those had shifted the barest bit when she had put the folder with Kristina’s résumé down. The shock this sight had incited hadn’t completely died down, only shifted. The existence of a second book – of a possible second list – had never occurred to Felicity. Thinking about it now, it was shocking how awfully obvious this possibility was, but it had never been part of one single what-if scenario.  
  
Felicity knew that Moira knew about the wreck; she knew that Moira was involved in hiding it in the warehouse. Why had Felicity never even contemplated that the list and the wreck might be connected? It was shockingly obvious now. The connection was practically staring her in the face and that connection had a name: Robert Queen. He had been on the boat which had been blown up. He had the list. He was married to Moira.  
  
All of this led to many more shocking scenarios that Felicity only dared to consider in the form of questions. Was Moira the one who compiled the list? Was that the reason why neither her nor Robert’s name was on it? Did she hire the other archer to go after the Hood? Was it ultimately Oliver’s own mother who was responsible for the severe injuries he had suffered during that fight? What had any of this to do with trying to keep her children safe? **  
  
** Felicity’s mind was spitting out more and more questions just to avoid the big one, the question she was dancing around, because it came with monstrous severity: was Moira involved in the bombing that started Oliver’s torment?  
  
That couldn’t be, Felicity tried to reason. Moira wouldn’t plant a bomb on a boat that her son boarded. But he had taken the trip rather spontaneously, trying to avoid the aftermath of their drunken marriage. Maybe Moira didn’t have to time to disable the bomb?  
  
It was an outrageous thought that Felicity couldn’t keep considering. **  
  
** In fact, Felicity decided, she needed to stop this speculating right now, because she didn’t have any proof for any of this. All she knew for certain was that Moira had a notebook that looked like the one Oliver had found when burying his father.  
  
The notebook didn’t equal the list. **  
  
** Maybe Moira’s notebook contained the names and addresses of people she needed to send Christmas cards to.... Felicity needed solid proof before she’d approach Oliver with any of this and shatter his world. This held the potential of an earthquake of epic proportions with world ending, apocalyptic qualities—and Felicity didn’t feel like walking to Jerusalem yet.  
  
She needed the notebook, to look at the pages to be sure before she went to Oliver. She needed— **  
  
** Heavy footsteps coming down the metallic stairs startled Felicity out of her dark musings. Spinning around with her chair, she saw Diggle half-dragging Oliver down the stairs. Instantaneously, she jumped up. “What happened?”  
  
John’s answer was short and horrible, “Vertigo overdose.” **  
  
** “WHAT?” Felicity felt like the blood in her veins had frozen for a second, but then she remembered the Foundry-tour Oliver had given her on one of the first evenings. It had included all the important sights: the blood storage, the defibrillator, the “pharmacy” including Epinephrine, Oxycodone, bandages, and some voodoo herbs that counteracted most poisons. “Does Vertigo count as a poison?”  
  
“Yes,” Oliver answered. His reply might have been strained, pressed through gritted teeth, but the fact that he had registered, understood, and reacted to her question was good. Felicity chose to take it as a good sign while she raced to prepare the herbs. She heard the men move behind her and when she turned around, the herbs pestled and mixed with water, Oliver lay on the center table, bare-chested. The questions when and _why_ John had taken off his shirt crashed through her, but were instantly dismissed as entirely irrelevant. Rushing toward him, she took two steps before Oliver called, “Stop!”  
  
Her legs complied before her brain had fully registered the order. She stood frozen to the spot quite a few steps away from the med-table, the bowl with the self-made anti-drug in both hands. Her eyes were glued to him as his muscles shook with spasms, his hands clenched into tight fists. A war was raging within him, twisting his features, testing his control, hurting him. **  
  
** John took the bowl out of her hands, dragging her eyes away from Oliver, and he rushed back to the table. In the next moment Felicity knew why Oliver wanted her to keep her distance: as John moved to him, Oliver’s hand snapped up and went for his partner’s throat. **  
  
** Memories washed over Felicity: the feeling of Oliver’s hand around her neck, his fingers pressing into her skin, limiting her ability to breathe, the fear inside her and the sudden fear crossing Oliver’s face. But this time Oliver’s face was a grimace, his handsome features twisted, the muscles in right arm flexed, visibly straining beneath his skin. Oliver was fighting, but not against John, he was fighting himself and by the look on John’s face he was losing. He pressed out a warning, “Oliver.”  
  
Her legs moved before her brain registered her decision. She raced to Oliver’s right and brought her hand to his chest. “Oliver, it’s okay.” Her voice was soft. “Please, Oliver.” **  
  
** His hand tightened for the barest instant then let go. His arm dropped to the table and John brought the small bowl to Oliver’s lips, ordering him to “Drink.”  
  
The herbal mix flowed into Oliver’s mouth – as well as past it – and he swallowed, gulping it down, before his whole body tightened, twisted, and all that was left for him to do was scream. **  
  
** The tortured yell came from deep within him. Anger, frustration, pain, and desperation formed a sound that echoed from the bare walls around them as he fought to get off the table. Felicity felt his muscles work underneath her hands, instinctually pushing against him, even though she knew it was futile. There was no way she could hold him. John’s strong grip on his left shoulder was far more effective in doing this—and still not entirely successful. **  
  
** Oliver was lashing out, but by now it was obvious that he wasn’t really fighting against them, but against some invisible foe. Felicity didn’t want to imagine what his mind was showing him, which nightmares – of the island, of torture, of the mob, of whatever it meant that he had been trained to be an assassin – were playing in front of his inner eye.  
  
“Felicity,” John’s voice was calm. “Step back, please.”  
  
After the barest hesitation, Felicity brought enough space between them that Oliver couldn’t reach her. She wasn’t sure where they came from, but suddenly there were handcuffs in John’s hand. The struggle was immense, but he managed to cuff Oliver’s left to the table.  
  
It took ten minutes until the fight left Oliver, until he stilled. The sudden calm was eerie and made Felicity’s breath hitch in her throat. Needing the confirmation, she moved to Oliver and checked his pulse. It was racing—that wasn’t good but the sudden flagging of his body had scared her into believing that there might be no pulse at all.  
  
Hearing his heartbeat always was comforting to Felicity. It was her favorite thing to fall asleep to. When her head rested on his chest, his arm tugging her into his body, his warmth so close, she could hear his heart beating and it sounded like life and promises and hope. Right after sex, the tapping could be fast and strong and she loved hearing this, too, because it was her doing and all positive. But now she had had nothing to do with his heart racing worryingly fast, with the negativity that came with it. Her hand rested on his neck as she felt the speedy puckering under her fingertips. His skin was clammy and getting wetter with each second.  
  
“He’s sweating,” Felicity informed John and, of course, couldn’t leave it at that, because there was so much tension inside her. She had to let some out. “That’s good, I guess. I remember when Tina threw this party and I mixed vodka-jello with Jägermeister-shots. Word of advice: if somebody asks you to enter an eating-contest with vodka-jello—don’t.”  
  
John tried the barest smile. “Good advice. I’ll stick to that.”  
  
“I sweated like that the next day.” She looked at Oliver’s glistering skin. “Okay, not like that. But I sweated a lot. So much. So disgusting.” **  
  
** Chuckling softly, John dug into the pocket of his jacket and pulled two syringes out. They were mostly empty, but both contained a touch of a yellow substance. “He was injected with this. Can you find out what it is exactly?”  
  
Of course not! Felicity’s field of expertise was computer science, hacking, coding, technological things. She didn’t know anything about chemistry. But she knew people who knew. “Sure.”  
  
“I’ll call Pyotr. He’ll take you home. I’ll stay with Oliver.”  
  
“I’m not leaving.” The suggestion alone seemed laughable to Felicity. Knowing that Oliver lay on this table, she wouldn’t be able to get any rest anyway.  
  
“A smart woman like you really should be wise enough not to fall in love with a complicated man like him.” He was obviously teasing, softening the words and revealing a certain caring. **  
  
** “Well, complicated‘s my middle name, so....” She glanced to John. “Actually, it’s Megan.” Her eyes travelled over Oliver’s body and settled on his face. He seemed calm, like he was sleeping. She checked his pulse again. Still way too fast. “Plus, loving him isn’t exactly intellectually founded.” Her hand slid from his neck to his chest, and in that second Felicity had a clear vision of what that must look and sound like to the other man. “Or sexually.” Her eyes snapped to John. “I mean, I _am_ sexually attracted to him.” She flinched. “And intellectually, of course.” Why was she still talking? “Both. Mind and body. And soul. And I’ll shut up in three... two... one.” **  
  
** John looked at her with a smile playing around his lips, “Good to know.” **  
  
** “I just wanted to say that you can’t chose who you fall in love with.” She gestured to John. “You should know.” **  
  
** Caught, John cleared his throat. **  
  
** Inwardly, Felicity was cursing herself. Way to go, making him uncomfortable. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s just... it’s pretty obvious how you feel about Carly.”  
  
“That can’t happen. She’s my brother’s wife.”  
  
“She _was_ your brother’s wife,” Felicity corrected. “John, I’m probably – no, most likely – not qualified to give you any relationship advice, but I know the tells of a woman who’s interested. And Carly is. Interested that is.”  
  
“Andy was shot.” **  
  
** To Felicity that seemed like very random information. “I know. Oliver told me. I’m sorry.”  
  
“He was ripped from his family in seconds. Ripped from me, but also from his wife, from his son. Carly and AJ, they suffered enough. I cannot mess up their lives.”  
  
“Who says you’d mess it up? You—”  
  
“I can’t replace my brother.”  
  
“Of course not,” Felicity said. “Nobody said that. But the fact that Carly was with your brother doesn’t change how you feel about her now. You care about her, you want to be with her, and you’re only fooling yourself if you deny yourself this shot at happiness. If you do, that killer’s responsible for more than your brother’s death.” Felicity’s voice was soft. “You can’t let that happen.”  
  
John stared at her for a few seconds before he broke eye-contact, turning around. He moved to her desk and rolled her chair back to Oliver. “Here, you can’t stand all night long. Take a seat.”  
  
“I will, but first I gotta make some calls.” She held her hands out. “Give me a syringe. Time to analyze the Count’s recipe.”


	25. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You wonderful, wonderful people, I am so thankful that you’re sticking with this story. I was so worried I’d lose some of you once the whole will-they-won’t-they-phase was done with and the whole figuring-out-how-to-make-this-work-phase took over (yes, we’re still in phase two…). It’s amazing that you’re still with me and I’m more delighted that I can properly express that you enjoy my writing. Thank you all so, so much for your unwavering support. You’re amazing!
> 
> To **Albiona** , the inventor of the Trans-Atlantic hug: you make me better. Always. Thank you!

**February 1 st, 2013**  
  
Light hit his pupils and it _hurt_. The sudden brightness made him wince and shut his eyes again tightly. But the lucid flash had been enough to trigger awareness. A hammering filled his head. With its increasing strengthening it felt like a drummed countdown to explosion.  
  
Maybe it was best if his head simply exploded and he was done with it.  
  
His skin felt like it was on fire, prickling and itchy, as if insects were crawling over him. Once, on the island, he had been stupid enough to crouch down in an anthill—that experience hadn’t been as unpleasant as the current sensation, making goose bumps rise from disgust.  
  
A gentle hand cut through the sick feeling, soft fingers resting flat against his skin. “Oliver.” The touch and the voice were soothing. He concentrated on the calming fingertips moving to his neck. His first coherent thought told him that she was checking his pulse. His eyelids were heavy, his eyes felt dry and his lashes were clotted, but he managed the barest slits.  
  
Brightness welcomed him again, forced him to blink quickly, repeatedly, until he didn’t feel blinded anymore and he could make out details: the dark shape above him turned into Felicity’s beautiful face. He saw the soft expression in her eyes, the small smile curving her gorgeous lips upward slightly, and a ponytail that was unusually messy for her. “Hey,” she whispered tenderly. “Good morning.”  
  
He blinked again and tried to answer, but his lips stuck together, painful. His mouth completely dry, he swallowed uncomfortably and forced his aching body into a sitting position. His movement was restricted, he realized, by his hand cuffed to the table. That explained the especially strong pins and needles in his left arm. He tried to remember what had happened, but couldn’t.  
  
Felicity’s hand fell from his neck. She stood next to the hard table he had been laying on, looking at him carefully. “How are you feeling?”  
  
His voice was hoarse. “Like I have the worst hangover of my life.” Talking hurt his throat.  
  
“That coming from a guy who spent most of his twenties in a hangover is really saying something,” Diggle commented dryly from where he sat on Felicity’s desk.  
  
Actually, Oliver had spent most of his twenties in very sober situations, fighting to survive. It had been the years from sixteen to twenty-two that had been an intoxicating blur of alcohol, sex, and carelessness. But he didn’t feel like telling Diggle that—not in general and especially not when his tongue was so heavy. Forming words was too much effort to waste it. The metal of the handcuffs clanged against the table as he moved his arm. “You think you can uncuff me?” He addressed the soldier, knowing that this was his doing, not Felicity’s. “Not gonna kill you,” he added in an effort to seem unfazed. He wasn’t, of course. He couldn’t look at Felicity, couldn’t meet her eyes that were fixed on him. “Promise.”  
  
Sighing, Diggle pushed off the desk, the key to the handcuffs in hand.  
  
The metal ring that had enclosed his wrist opened. It was a relief to straighten up, roll his shoulder, rub his wrist. With an involuntary hiss, Oliver got to his feet, holding on to the table for support.  
  
“You’re standing,” Diggle observed and complimented. “That’s pretty impressive. The Count only hit you with half a dose and you still sweated out a small swimming pool coming down.” He tossed a zip-up sweater to Oliver.  
  
Oliver felt Felicity’s stare still on him as he put it on. He was very aware that she hadn’t participated in the conversation yet. “The Count,” Oliver huffed. “Any chance our friends at SCPD arrested him?”  
  
“None at all,” Diggle answered.  
  
Oliver’s face twisted in unhappiness. Great. First the morons had to bust into his meeting and mess everything up, and then they didn’t even get the work done. He stepped away from the table.  
  
“Listen, Oliver,” Diggle said, stopping him. “I think you should give yourself a few hours of rest. A near drug overdose is nothing you walk away from.”  
  
That was probably true, but Oliver didn’t exactly care. “I promised Thea that I’d take her to school. And I’m hellbent on keeping that promise.”  
  
He took two more steps before – “STOP!” – Felicity’s voice rooted him to the spot. “You’ll sit down right this instant.” She pointed at her chair standing next to the med table. It was Felicity’s seat, not his. He never sat there when she was around—or even when she wasn’t. He had only used it once, when he had traced her ring.  
  
“Fel—”  
  
“Sit _down_.”  
  
Sucking his lower lip in, he stared at her for a moment before he exhaled audibly.  
  
“You should do as your wife says.”  
  
Oliver hated the amused smirk on Diggle’s face and couldn’t help but question what the soldier thought he’d know about listening to your wife. Still, he sank down on the seat—but not without sending Felicity a pointed glare.  
  
It bounced off her. She held a bottle of water out to him. “Drink it. You’re dehydrated.”  
  
Knowing she had a point, he kept from saying anything and simply unscrewed the lid to empty the whole bottle. Miraculously, Felicity produced a second one. “Take your time with that one. School started two hours ago. I called Thea and told her you’re sick and sorry, and that you’d try to pick her up at three—if I decide that it’s safe to let you behind a steering wheel. She sounded like she understood.”  
  
The little strength Oliver had gathered to come to his feet left him. His shoulders sagged, his back bent, his eyes closed for a second before settling them on Felicity. She wordlessly dared him to object, telling him with her eyes that she was only looking out for him—and he silently thanked her for caring before he brought his hand up, asking her to come to him.  
  
Not daring to kiss her with a mouth that tasted like dead cat, he pulled her into a hug. Since he was sitting, she was for once taller than him as she closed her arms around him, his head settling against her chest. She kissed the top of his head. He got to enjoy that for a second: being surrounded by her warmth and her scent, her softness in the middle of everything that was hard and cold and ugly. The way he held her was an unspoken apology for making her worry, an assurance that he was fine or would be fine. It was a thank you for loving him despite everything.  
  
They parted faster than he would have liked when her cellphone rang from her purse. “Jerry,” she answered after racing to it, “I’m sorry, I slept in.” She listened to whatever her EA told her. When her gaze dropped to the cement floor of the Foundry Oliver knew that it couldn’t be good news. “Okay, I’ll be there shortly. Please, tell Damian I’m on it. Thank you, bye.”  
  
After ending the call she kept her glance on the floor a little longer, collecting herself.  
  
“Bad news?” Oliver asked, knowing the answer already.  
  
“We lost another customer.” She cleared her throat.  
  
Oliver pressed his lips together shortly, but didn’t dare to get up from his seat. “You should go to Firestorm,” he said, softly. “Digg, could you drive her? I’ll tell Pyotr to meet you there and take over.”  
  
“But—”  
  
She started objecting, but this time he wouldn’t have it. “No, you’re needed there. I’m fine. I promise to stay in this seat for at least fifteen more minutes and drink my water, okay?”  
  
She looked at him, thinking for a few seconds, then she stated, “Thirty minutes.”  
  
“Twenty.”  
  
“Thirty.”  
  
He stared at her. She met his gaze challengingly—and he knew if he gave her another counteroffer she’d probably up the time to at least forty-five minutes. “Fine,” he finally huffed. Ignoring Diggle’s smirk, he confirmed. “I’ll stay in this seat for thirty more minutes. And now let Digg take you to Firestorm. Don’t worry about me, okay?  
  
Slowly, Felicity nodded. “Okay.” The facts that Felicity didn’t even suggest she drive alone or complain about the constant supervision gave him a clear idea of how serious things must be at work. She gathered her coat (which she had draped over the salmon ladder, of all things), her purse, and moved to him. Their eyes met and she pointed a threatening index-finger at him. “Don’t ever do that again!”  
  
He nodded and reached for her lifted hand, cradling it in his. “Consider it added to the list of things I’ll keep from doing in the future—directly under getting hit by grenades and letting people beat me up.” He tightened his grip on her hand, squeezing for support. “Go, be awesome at work.”  
  
_________________________________________  
  
  
Thea had taken one look at him and had believed the ‘Oliver’s not feeling well’-cover story Felicity had told her.  
  
And it wasn’t even a lie. He wasn’t feeling well and he looked like it: pale, worn, with tired eyes. He hadn’t even dared to get behind the wheel himself, but had asked Diggle to drive him to pick up his sister.  
  
Thea sent him a knowing glance before saying that she’d been there and he hadn’t needed to come. The first part of the sentence sounded really wrong in Oliver’s ears—which was why he chose to ignore it. Instead, he told her that he knew that he didn’t have to come, but that he’d wanted to.  
  
An honest smile had been her only answer. It was rare that his sister directed such warmth at him and it was a wonderful sight.  
  
His good mood vanished when his cell phone rang and Quentin Lance’s number blinked in the display. The detective wanted to know where he could meet Oliver—that couldn’t be a good thing.  
  
A bad feeling settled in the pit of his stomach, turning even sourer when he saw that not one, but two police cars parked in front of Queen Mansion. Oliver’s eyes met Diggle’s in the rearview mirror as the Bentley rolled over the huge driveway, the gravel cracking under the tires. Worried eyes met worried eyes.  
  
“Oh my God, do you think he wants to take it back?”  
  
Surprised, Oliver’s eyes snapped to his little sister. “What?”  
  
“Lance talked to the judge. Maybe, he changed his mind.”  
  
“Don’t worry, Thea,” Oliver said in an effort to calm her. “Lance said he wanted to talk to me, not you. Nobody will take anything back.”  
  
Thea wasn’t completely convinced, Oliver could see it on her face, but neither sibling said anything else as they got out of the car. Diggle followed the two Queens into the huge house. Slowing down more and more, Thea finally stopped in the hall and Oliver knew that she was nervous. With a quick gesture he told her to just wait in the foyer and entered the sitting room where not only his mother but also Detective Lance and his partner sat. Keeping an uncaring mask in place, Oliver straightened his back and decided to go the unsuspecting route. “What’s going on, Detective? Is everything okay with Thea?”  
  
Lance got up from the couch. “This isn’t about your sister, it’s about you.”  
  
“Me?” A hefty dose of surprise was audible in Oliver’s voice, it was also visible in his face. He made a point to meet the detective’s eyes, showing that he had nothing to hide, nothing to worry about.  
  
“Yes, you.” A challenge shone in Lance’s eyes. “Last night SCPD busted up a drug deal between a big time drug dealer and the Russian mob.”  
  
Great. The exact topic Oliver had feared. His heart started to beat a little quicker, but he wouldn’t let it show. Instead, he went for dim annoyance. “Okay,” he said while his tone infused the unasked question what that had to do with him, “so?”  
  
“So, imagine my surprise at seeing you on the scene.”  
  
“Me?”  
  
“Yes, you.” Lance took a step toward Oliver. “I saw you, Queen, running through the parking garage.”  
  
Moira sounded forcedly calm. “Is that true?” In her mind she was probably already contemplating which lawyer was the best choice for keeping this situation contained.  
  
Oliver forced himself not to hesitate, not to miss a beat, to make his next words sound like the complete truth—even if they were carefully collected parts of the truth combined with complete lies. “I was looking into The Count. He was the one who sold drugs to Thea. I figured if I got eyes on him and see what he looked like I could give your sketch-artists something to go on. So I paid a low-life with a Russian accent an obscene amount of money to arrange a meeting.”  
  
“And?” Lance asked in a way that made it impossible to miss how big of an idiot he believed the rich boy opposite him to be. “Did you get eyes on him?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Before the detective could inquire any further Moira got up from her seat. “Are you pressing charges against my son?”  
  
The expression crossing Quentin Lance’s face showed that he wanted to but couldn’t. His unhappiness with this fact was stressed when he answered Moira’s question indirectly. “If you get involved in this again you’ll see the inside of a jail cell.”  
  
Acting humbled, Oliver nodded, before another thought entered his mind. “Detective,” he said before he could talk himself out of it, “thank you for what you did for Thea.”  
  
Lance stiffened. “My daughter asked me for a favor. I did it for her, not for your sister—and especially not for you.”  
  
That was okay with Oliver, who felt like he had done more than enough now that he had expressed his gratitude. Oliver watched the two detectives leave before turning to his mother. Her eyes were shooting angry draggers at him. “What on earth were you thinking?”  
  
“I was trying to help.”  
  
“By running with the Russian mob and meeting an underground dealer? Are you out of your mind?”  
  
Oliver never got to answer, because in his moment Thea spoke up from behind him. “You really did that for me?”  
  
Facing his sister in her blue school-uniform, he answered, “Yes.” He sent his mother a quick glance. “I know it wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but I felt like I needed to do something.”  
  
“That’s a pretty big gesture,” Thea said.  
  
Oliver frowned because, seriously, what was that supposed to mean? But the thought of asking her fled from his mind as he saw a brilliant smile spread over his sister’s face. It was her honest, happy smile; the one that made her eyes sparkle and light up her face. The one that turned her into the twelve year old kid he remembered in all her exuberance and innocence. Her smile chased the frown from his features. And then Thea was with him, throwing her arms around him as she pulled him into a tight hug. All he could do was hug her back and smile against her neck as he heard her whisper, “Thank you. And I love you, too.”  
  
_________________________________  
  
  
Good news was too rare to wait to share.  
  
The last two hours he had spent with his mother and his sister, talking about normal stuff, was good news, the best news. Whatever had happened with Thea, for whatever reason she had stopped looking at him as if nothing he did lived up to her expectations, it was awesome—and a tiny voice inside Oliver whispered to him that Felicity might have had a hand in it.  
  
The plan was to thank her for... whatever, to make up for the crappy night she had spent watching him come down from the worst high of his life. The plan was to pick her up from work early and take her to dinner, to spend some quality time together.  
  
That plan flew right out of the window when he climbed the last steps leading to the third floor of the Firestorm-building. The tension in the air could not be missed, the unease spreading between the people who all sat at their desks without working. Some were openly looking toward the closed door of Felicity’s office, others were pointedly staring at their monitors, but they all were listening closely, trying to make out the words that were slipping through the door.  
  
The further Oliver walked through the room, the closer he got to the closed door Pyotr sat in front of with a portable video game thing in hand, the better he could hear what was said—and it didn’t sound good. Feeling like he wasn’t entitled to burst into the office (no matter how much he wished to do just that), Oliver stopped next to Jerry’s desk. “What’s happening?”  
  
“It’s like Godzilla and Mothra are battling it out in there,” Jerry whispered in awe.  
  
“Felicity’s Godzilla?” Oliver couldn’t believe that he had actually asked that question.  
  
“Of course,” Jerry stressed. “I could never turn her into a giant insect—not with her fear of spiders.”  
  
So, Tak was the giant insect. That didn’t change the very worrying fact that Firestorm’s CEO and her Vice President / head coder / friend were arguing. Loudly.  
  
“You’re making a mistake!” Yongtak Chan yelled, aggravated in a way Oliver had never believed possible.  
  
“You don’t know that,” Felicity countered.  
  
“No, Fe, I know! And I know that you’re doing something just to do something. Acting for the sake of acting is never smart.”  
  
“Yeah. Right! Because waiting and seeing has worked out perfectly so far!”  
  
“I’m not waiting and seeing, Fe. I’m working on a new software.”  
  
“It’s taking too long. Ask Damian! He used the word ‘down-sizing’ this morning. That’s the efficiently economic expression for firing people. And that can _not_ be happening! We can’t wait until we get rid of all the bugs, we need to do something _now_. Actually, we needed to something last week, but since I don’t have a time machine, there’s no time like the present.”  
  
“Well,” Tak said, hard and loud, “there would be fewer bugs if you could be bothered to show at least some interest in what we’re programming.”  
  
“WHAT?!” Felicity’s shout caused even Oliver to flinch.  
  
“YOU HEARD ME!” A second of silence followed and then Tak continued—a little bit quieter, but still perfectly understandable. “I know you’re married to a hunk, Fe. Trust me, I get it, but this is getting ridiculous. Did you even sleep last night? Because I know that you’re wearing yesterday’s clothes.”  
  
“Seriously?” Felicity shot back. “You’re dating somebody for a month and suddenly you think you’re a marriage counsellor? Which we don’t need. There’s no need for counseling—neither on my marriage nor on the way I dress!”  
  
“Oh, you need help, serious help. You need somebody to shake some sense into you until you see that you’re not defined by your husband! He’s not treating you right, Fe.”  
  
Oliver’s blood froze as he heard that. Cold shock crashed through his veins like ice water and paralyzed him.  
  
“He’s controlling your every move,” Tak reasoned. “He’s taking you everywhere. And if it’s not him by your side it’s one of the men he hires.”  
  
Felicity said something, but it was quieter, not really audible through the door.  
  
But Yongtak’s voice was loud. “IT IS! It’s abusive!”  
  
The last word caused Oliver to regain his ability to move while Tak continued. “It’s no wonder that you seem distracted constantly, like your thoughts are never here, with us, with work!”  
  
With forceful steps Oliver walked past Pyotr and opened the door—just as Jerry breathed, “Baragon’s entering the scene.”  
  
Oliver ignored all of that as he focused on Felicity and Yongtak who stood opposite each other. Felicity’s arms were crossed in front of her chest as she glared at Yongtak, pompadour severely ruffled. Both greeted Oliver with surprised expressions, but he didn’t react to that, either. Instead, he said, “I just thought you should know that every word you’re saying is perfectly audible out here.”  
  
Felicity’s eyes moved past Oliver to travel through the room spreading out behind him. Seeing the caught expression on her face and a matching look on Tak’s, Oliver entered the office and carefully closed the door. “You should keep it down. The kids always worry when mom and dad fight.”  
  
“They heard about—” Felicity whispered, unhappily.  
  
“Possibly having to lay people off?” Oliver nodded. “Yeah. And Tak’s accusation that I’m abusing you.” His eyes settled on Yongtak whose expression oscillated between challenging defiance and caught unease. “And even though I’d never get involved in your business decisions, the fact that Yongtak thinks I’m not treating you right is very much my business.”  
  
Though the urge to smack the other man was nearly overwhelming, Oliver fought it down with everything he had. His eyes were glued to the skinny guy with the black, round glasses who actually shrunk a little under Oliver’s glare. If Yongtak – who knew Oliver, who knew Felicity – thought that Oliver’s actions were abusive, he didn’t even want to start thinking about what it must seem like to other people, to strangers. Oliver had never even considered that people might think of his actions as anything other than protective, in a positive way. The implication that the word ‘abuse’ brought, combined with the memory of their first shared night, left Oliver not only angry but most uncomfortable. Subconsciously, his thumb found his index-finger.  
  
“Okay,” Yongtak stated, visibly gathering his bravado. “Let’s do this. Oliver, you’re suffocating Fe and—”  
  
“NO,” Felicity cut in and flinched at the volume of her own voice. Sending a quick glance to the door, she continued speaking much more quietly, “Tak, you don’t have any right to get involved in this. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
“No,” Oliver said calmly, “let him talk. I want to hear what he has to say.”  
  
Felicity shook her head and muttered, “This is a bad idea.”  
  
Both men chose to ignore her. Yongtak looked at Oliver and said, “You’re too controlling. I tried to introduce her to Chris twice—and Felicity cancelled with lame excuses both times. I don’t get why you don’t want her to spend time with us. She’s jumpy and always tired. And I don’t know where her thoughts are, but they’re not on work. You never let her go anywhere alone. If it’s not you, it’s a bodyguard limiting her freedom—and all of that is not the girl I love since she told Cooper Seldon that he seriously overestimated his own abilities.” He sent Felicity a short wink. “That’s still the perfect truth-bomb, by the way.”  
  
Oliver swallowed. His index and middle finger tapping against his thumb, he slowly nodded. “I see.” He gathered his thoughts. “You’re right,” he admitted finally. “I never let her go anywhere alone anymore. But it’s not because I don’t want her to go places or because I don’t want her to spend time with you or meet your boyfriend. That’s not true. Please know that. It’s just.... I’m trying to keep her safe, and this is the only way I know how.”  
  
“Oliver,” Felicity tried to get his attention, but he ignored her.  
  
His eyes stayed on Yongtak, who met his gaze unwaveringly, arms crossed over his chest, obviously entirely unimpressed with Oliver’s words. “Have you met Felicity?” Yongtak asked. “Because the girl I know doesn’t need safe-keeping. She isn’t some petite birdy you have to keep locked up in a cage.”  
  
“I’m not locking her up.” Oliver fought against the rising anger, knowing this was a situation he, for once, had to solve with words. “And I perfectly know how strong and capable she is.”  
  
“Do you?” The smaller man challenged, speaking calmly. “Really? Because I was there during her last year at MIT that was all hate and gossip and stares directed at her. I was there when she graduated summa cum laude despite all that and despite the nights she spent crying for her baby.”  
  
“Tak,” Felicity cut in, her tone a clear warning.  
  
Again she was ignored. “She doesn’t need your supervision,” Tak stressed. “She doesn’t need you trying to control her, she has everything perfectly under control herself. Felicity knows what she’s doing; she’s always known—even before you came back from your island.”  
  
Oliver swallowed, heavily. He hated that Yongtak had a point. But he did, and there wasn’t any use denying it. “You’re right,” Oliver admitted.  
  
This complete agreement surprised Yongtak. It was obvious Firestorm’s Vice President hadn’t expected such swift surrender. He frowned up at the taller man, slightly suspicious.  
  
And, really, as much as Oliver was waving a white flag, he wasn’t surrendering. “I know how amazing Felicity is. I know… times… were rough. I know she’s strong-willed. Emotionally, she can handle everything that’s thrown at her. But that’s not what this is about.” He stared down at the shorter man and said, his voice harsh, “She’s been _kidnapped_. She’s been shot at. This company was attacked. I can’t do anything about the latter, but I’ll do everything to make sure she’s protected. Physically.”  
  
Yongtak gave up his defensive stance, letting his previously crossed arms fall to his sides. He shifted his weight uneasily, listening to Oliver.  
  
“I know Felicity’s not happy with this, because the woman you and I care about doesn’t just accept things like this without a fight, but she deals with it for now—for me, because _I_ need this. And all of that’s taking its toll. And there are some issues with our family, like Thea’s trial, that aren’t making things easier, but I agree with you that Firestorm should be Felicity’s main focus right now.”  
  
“Okay,” Felicity cut in, “I’m standing right here. You don’t get to talk about me like I’m not even there when I’m right here and perfectly capable of talking.”  
  
“As evidenced by this long rant when the words ‘shut up’ would have been sufficient,” Yongtak smirked.  
  
Felicity wasn’t amused. “Okay, then: shut up! I don’t need either of you to save me! Or defend my honor or whatever misguided manly thing you’ve got going on here.” She looked at Yongtak. “Not to mention that we were talking about Firestorm strategies—and for that it’s completely irrelevant if I wear yesterday’s clothes!”  
  
“Felicity,” Oliver said, “he’s your friend and he’s worried about you.”  
  
“Seriously?!” Felicity looked as if she wanted to slap him. “Now you’re defending him?”  
  
“He’s looking out for you. I can’t find anything wrong with that. But,” he turned to Yongtak, needing the man to understand that he wasn’t joking but deadly serious about his next words, “don’t you dare even hint that I’m abusing Felicity again. Are we clear?”  
  
Yongtak’s eyes jumped between Oliver and Felicity. “I don’t get it,” he said, carefully, not reacting to Oliver’s last statement. “Were there any specific threats? Why do you think Felicity’s in danger?”  
  
Oliver exhaled soundly, digging his brain for an answer that didn’t involve all the unspecific things that summed up to specific danger looming over them: Oliver’s night job, Felicity finding a (now missing) boat with a hole created by a bomb, another archer—to only name the things that came to him of the top of his head. Anger was still rising inside Oliver and he couldn’t help but take a step toward Tak to tower over the smaller man even more, looking down at him. “Oh,” he mocked, “Felicity getting shot at _twice_ and getting kidnapped isn’t specific enough for you?”  
  
“Tak,” Felicity stepped toward them and directed her friend’s attention to her. “I know you mean well.” She smiled warmly. “I appreciate your concern, but it’s not necessary. Ever since the kidnapping… I’ve had a hard time dealing.” Felicity’s voice was small, quiet, and sadly, Oliver knew too well that she was speaking the truth. She was getting better, a week had passed since her last nightmare, but she hadn’t put one foot into their main bathroom since the kidnapping. She was presenting her friend parts of the truth and it made Oliver feel horrible. It caused him to step away from Yongtak, whose face visibly softened, too.  
  
“And the shooting proved that Firestorm’s not exactly safe either,” she continued. “The bodyguards might have been Oliver’s idea, but I’m okay with it. I don’t like to admit it, but I’m not as in control as I want people to believe me to be.”  
  
That was at least partly a lie, Oliver knew.  
  
But Yongtak didn’t. He turned to his friend, reaching for her hand, making her meet his eyes. “Fe, I’m so sorry. I never even thought about that, how all of that must have affected you. And it’s only natural that it did. The kidnapping must’ve been horrible. It would have shaken anybody.” He glanced at Oliver. “Guess that makes me a bad friend and you a good husband.”  
  
“No,” Felicity objected. “You’re a great friend. I kept all of that from you. With everything that’s going on here I didn’t want to add any more… suck. Because honestly, there’s more than enough of that already.”  
  
“That’s typical you.” Tak shook his head. “Sometimes you’re pretty stupid for a genius.”  
  
“Why, thank you,” Felicity teased before turning serious again, “And just so you know, I’m wearing yesterday’s clothes because I didn’t sleep last night. Oliver was sick. And I stayed up with him.”  
  
That was another statement that wasn’t a lie while not telling the whole story. Oliver kept his face even as the searching eyes of Firestorm’s head coder studied him. “Yeah,” Yongtak finally said. “You look pretty shitty—while still being unfairly handsome.”  
  
A moment of silence followed. It ended with a heavy sigh. “I apologize,” Tak said, daring to meet Oliver’s eyes. “I didn’t know. But now I get the whole bodyguard-thing.”  
  
His face and posture hard, Oliver glared at the other man, stressing each word of his next sentence in an effort to drill it home. “I am not abusing Felicity.”  
  
“You’re not,” Tak confirmed. “I know. I’m sorry.”  
  
Finding nothing but honesty on the smaller man’s face, Oliver gave a jerk of his head that was meant to be an accepting nod.  
  
Yongtak’s eyes snapped to the closed door quickly before settling on Felicity. “Before I go out there, yelling at people for listening to us yelling....” He sighed once more. “Please, one last time, I’m begging you: don’t get this company involved with Wells.”  
  
Oliver looked at Felicity. He had no idea what Yongtak was taking about, but suddenly Felicity looked even more exhausted. The strength that had been visible while reasoning with her friend left her. Seeing that was like a slap to Oliver, a truly worrying sight.  
  
“Tak,” Felicity said the name as if it were a sigh, “we lost another client. Damian says we need some positive press, some good news to spread. Wells’ project in Central City is highly acclaimed. Firestorm’s name would be connected to a groundbreaking development. Wells is still willing to associate his particle accelerator with Firestorm. And those are good reasons to take up his offer. You haven’t given me one good reason against doing so.”  
  
“You know about my internship at Star Labs during senior year. I met Wells back then, and I’m telling you: that man’s ruthless—he’ll do anything to get the results he wants. He talks about the ‘greater good’ too much, justifying means that I can’t agree with.”  
  
“Wait,” Felicity frowned, “was that the internship you quit?”  
  
“That’s the one.” Yongtak’s expression turned haunting. “Please, steer clear of Wells. We don’t need him. We can get the software to work, Fe. You and I, if we get our acts together. I’m sorry, I was miffed because you cancelled on Chris and me. I didn’t think about what you went through, the pressure you felt. But my diva-mode is off now, I promise.”  
  
Felicity looked at her friend, a small smile playing around her lips. “And I’m sorry for being MIA lately. Like Oliver said, things are hectic, but that’s no excuse for not meeting your boyfriend. How about Sunday?”  
  
Tak smiled weakly. “Third time’s a charm, right?” He turned to Oliver. “Why don’t you come, too?”  
  
“After you accuse me of never letting Felicity go anywhere alone?” Oliver was only half-teasing and the tone in his voice showed it.  
  
Squashing any negativity before it could start building, Felicity spoke up, “Tak, I hear what you’re saying about Wells, please, believe me. But I cannot fire people. I have to do what feels best for this company.”  
  
“I know. But I also know that we can get the Firestorm-Firewall to work, we’ll make our own good press. Please, think it over.”  
  
“I will,” Felicity promised.  
  
Yongtak sent Oliver one last long look before he moved and opened the door. Standing in the door frame, he informed the people outside, “Okay, good news, kids. Mommy and daddy made up. And I officially apologized to mommy’s husband for jumping to the wrong conclusions. So, breathe easy and get back to work!” He closed the door.  
  
In a gesture of utter defeat, Felicity brought her hand to her forehead. Oliver felt like a complete ass, because he hadn’t seen it before: her struggle to keep all the different balls she was juggling from falling to the ground. He hadn’t noticed that he was only tossing her more things to keep track of. He hadn’t even thought about the fact that she probably hadn’t slept much or at all last night. He stepped toward her to hug her and start taking some weight off her, but she stepped back.  
  
She shook her head and brought her hands up in a defensive gesture. “Please, don’t,” she said quietly. “If you touch me now I’ll fall apart and I can’t. I just _can’t_. I can’t leave this office with red and puffy eyes, because I need people to believe that I’m not worried, that I’m handling things, that nobody’s getting fired.” Deliberately, she blew air out between her lips. “I need a moment, please.”  
  
Oliver nodded. “I understand.”  
  
How could he not? He knew what it felt like when complete control was out of reach, when you had to strain to keep it together, when you had to rein in all your emotions to keep yourself from breaking. For Oliver it was every form of anger and frustration that could crack the calm surface; for Felicity it was everything that could be construed as weakness: her compassion, her loyalty, her sensitivity. He loved her for all of that, but he knew telling her wasn’t exactly helpful in the current situation.  
  
He loved her and so he stepped away from her, turned his back to her, and placed his eyes on anything but her.  
  
The pictures on the shelf caught his interest. Moving closer, he studied them: the picture of Kristina licking Felicity’s cheek while Felicity made a face; the picture of Felicity and Yongtak at their MIT-graduation, smiling happily; the picture of Felicity and a blonde woman in bright, tight clothes who he knew was her mother, standing in front of the Eiffel Tower—the Vegas-version. And then he saw the picture of Felicity, Kristina, Tak, and him. It had been taken at the Halloween party. Tina and Tak sported happy drunken smiles while Oliver’s lips didn’t curve upward even the tiniest bit. But he loved the picture. It wasn’t the photo itself he liked but the fact it was there, that it looked so casual, that he was part of it. It was unexpected, but a wonderful surprise.  
  
A cleared throat indicated that Felicity felt like she had collected herself enough. His eyes lingered on the picture for another second before turning around.  
  
“Thank you,” she said evenly.  
  
He nodded. “My original plan was to treat you to an early dinner, but that doesn’t seem likely.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I need a couple more hours for damage control.”  
  
His eyes rested on her, somehow she looked more fragile than usual to him. The remnants of the bruises on her left jaw shining in green and yellow only increased that impression. “Felicity,” he said softly. “I think you shouldn’t come to the Foundry for a while.” He sensed the upcoming objection and hurried to add, “And not because I don’t want you there. I just think that Firestorm should be your priority for now. It’s your company; it’s years of hard work. There are twenty people out there that depend on you and that you feel responsible for.” He longed to touch her, but he knew to keep his distance. “I’m sorry for not seeing it sooner: you can’t go on like this. You’re exhausted, you need sleep and a clear head, and you need to focus on that new software.”  
  
“Last night, when I watched you sweat, I decided that I needed to calibrate the com-systems so that I could monitor you when you were out. I decided to get _more_ involved, not less.”  
  
“Felicity, you look like you’re about to collapse. You’re too smart not to know that you can’t keep this up.” Her face showed him that she did know, but didn’t like it.  
  
“Do you remember what happened last time you asked me to take a Saturday off?”  
  
Never would he forget it. “I increased security since then.” He couldn’t keep from adding, “Just ask Tak.”  
  
Felicity ignored his last statement. “It feels like I’m letting you down,” she admitted instead. “Like I’m abandoning you.”  
  
“Maybe it’s part of coming to terms with...” He didn’t want to reference ‘The Hood’ in her office, not even when they were talking quietly, so he went for, “...all sides of me—for you and me. We both need to find a way to balance this.” He dared to step closer to her. “Diggle’s involved now. I promise to rely on him more, keep him informed. I promise I won’t take unnecessary risks. I promise to talk to you about what’s going on. But for now, please, just be the CEO of your company.”  
  
A softness and certain thankfulness lit her eyes. “Damn it, you’re right.”  
  
“It’s rare, but it happens,” he teased.  
  
She chuckled softly. The lightness left her nearly instantaneously and Oliver was faced with a threatening index-finger. “I need you to put a tracer on when you go out, somewhere hidden and secure. John always needs to be able to find you.”  
  
“Okay,” he agreed. How could he object when he had asked her to do the same thing? Sensing that she wanted to say more he sent her a questioning glance.  
  
She sounded hesitant when she said, “There’s something else that worries me, but I’d rather not talk about it here.”  
  
That was another thing he could easily accept. “Then we’ll talk about it later tonight when I come home. Or tomorrow, if you’re already asleep.” He dared to bring his hand to her cheek. “Don’t wait up for me, okay?”  
  
“What’s your plan for tonight?”  
  
“Turns out, no matter what Diggle thinks, I am able to subtly place a tracer on somebody. I plan to finish the things I started last night, suited up this time.”  
  
“Oh,” Felicity sighed, flatly. “Great.”  
  
“Don’t worry about it.”  
  
“How can I not? Even when I’m a CEO I don’t stop being your wife.”  
  
Subconsciously, his fingers closed around her cheek. A happy tinge rushed down his spine. An unasked question shone in her eyes and he explained, “That’s the first time you said it. That you called yourself my wife.” He smiled. “I like it.”  
  
The smile appearing on her face increased the uplifting joy inside him. “Good, ‘cause I like that, too. I decided that I’m okay with us rushing things.”  
  
“You think we’re rushing things?”  
  
“Oliver, we married after four hours and three Tequila.”  
  
“Technically, that was five years ago.”  
  
A chuckle was her reaction and he loved it, loved that he was able to make somebody laugh and smile again. She looked happy and beautiful and she was his. He bent down to kiss her, chastely at first but, needing a stronger connection, he deepened the kiss, daring to get lost in it, in her. When he finally let go of her, he looked into her shining eyes. He answered with a smile of his own.  
  
Together they stepped to the office door. “Be careful,” she requested.  
  
“Always,” he promised. They shared one long glance before Oliver opened the door, nodded at Jerry, and walked through the room. He felt many eyes on him, but ignored them.  
  
“Okay, people.” Felicity’s voice came from behind him, strong and clear. “Company meeting. I want everybody crammed into the conference room in ten minutes.”  
  
Her announcement was met by silence as Oliver reached to stairs. He stopped and turned to see only Jerry reacting to Felicity’s words. “On it!” The EA got up from his seat. “You heard it, people.” He said, snapping the others out of their trance. “Cram into the conference room. I’ll inform the second floor.”  
  
Oliver looked at Felicity. She still stood just outside her office, looking confident and in charge. Their eyes met through the room and she sent him a nod. There was nothing else to say.  
  
__________________________________________  
  
  
The Count had gotten a dose of his own poison. Vertigo reduced the man to a shell, meaning the formula for it was lost forever.  
  
Oliver decided to mark that in the win column.  
  
Diggle agreed. Oliver’s new partner was of the opinion that The Hood needed to look beyond the list. “You can do some actual good in this city,” he claimed and Oliver could see his point. Ridding the streets of The Count, who had gotten his name by the body count generated during the experiments creating Vertigo, and taking the drug off the market was a good thing for Starling City and the people who lived here.  
  
Those thoughts flew from Oliver’s mind as the elevator stopped, the ‘pling’ announcing its arrival at the fourteenth floor. Stepping onto the new, plush carpet, Oliver was faced with Jacob Weyman (ex-addict, stopped heroin and started kick-boxing, three times West Coast USA Super Heavyweight Champion, mean right hook, divorced with three kids, closeted Taylor Swift fan) who was guarding this floor tonight. The butch man had gotten up from his seat and walked toward the elevator, but stopped as he recognized his employer. “Mr. Queen,” he greeted.  
  
“Mr. Weyman,” Oliver answered and saw the surprise on the other man’s face about being addressed by name. For a second Oliver contemplated giving the security guard a short lie to explain why he came home at two a.m., but decided against it. He didn’t have to justify his whereabouts to him.  
  
Jacob moved back to his seat to pick up a plate resting next to it. “Ms. Miles visited shortly tonight and brought cake. Your wife was nice enough to offer me a slice.” He handed the plate with a fork on top to Oliver. “Please, thank her again. Ms. Miles is a very good baker.”  
  
“Will do,” Oliver promised. “Good night.”  
  
“Good night, Mr. Queen.”  
  
The apartment lay in darkness and silence as he entered it. Oliver didn’t mind. This was his home and he knew his way around perfectly—especially since the floor-length windows in the main room let in the city’s glow. In the kitchen, he found the dishwasher full and clean. Two in the morning was not the time to unload the dishwasher, he decided, so he put the plate on the counter. Quietly, he walked to their bedroom.  
  
The covers tightly wrapped around her, Felicity slept peacefully. He undressed quickly, went to his side of the bed, and got in. As always, Felicity lay on her side, one hand under the pillow, her face relaxed, her breathing even. Careful not to wake her, he brushed his lips against her temple. She sighed in her sleep and Oliver smiled. She was the best thing to come home to.


	26. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amazing feedback to the previous chapter was… amazing. [I have a way with words, don’t I?!] I honestly don't know how to adequately express how very happy your reviews and your support of phase two make me. Those of you promising to stay with this until the end: know that I’ll hold you to that. ;)
> 
> No, honestly: I cannot thank you enough for all the love you send my way. I know inserting OCs in a canon-based story’s always tricky, and I am delighted that you like the two main ones I came up with. That’s a big mark in the win column, maybe the biggest one. Thank you very much.
> 
> Since we’re on the topic of amazing: **Albiona**. The Oliver/Tak-fight in the previous chapter was inspired by her, so it’s basically her awesomeness that so many of you enjoyed. I cannot praise her enough for being a perfect muse mastering the art of constructive criticism. And I cannot thank her enough: she hurried to check this chapter and get it back to me quickly. We’re not entirely done working on the story, but the first draft of every chapter’s written and I’m tempted to up the posting-schedule a little—if life lets us, of course. But… so far, so good. ;)
> 
> Okay, once again, I have said more than enough. All my love!

**February 2 nd, 2013**  
  
Felicity had decided that the whole honesty-thing Oliver and she had developed really worked for her.  
  
Keeping things from him was just a waste of energy—energy that Felicity didn’t have at the moment, because she had a company to save. Worries filled her to the brink and she knew the slightest shove might cause the whole thing to spill over. Firestorm’s future, the buggy software, abandoning the Foundry and leaving Oliver alone with all of _that_ , her best friend’s depressed state (as evidenced by homemade cake—when Kristina baked things were really bad), Thea starting her community service with Laurel at CNRI, Walter not calling back yesterday.... Her personal list of things to worry about was long and diverse; anything she could tick off was a blessing.  
  
Plus, she had decided that Oliver deserved to know about her suspicions. It might be nothing, but if it was something, she’d have to drop a figurative anvil (or something that hurt more) on him while also revealing that she had kept something from him. The latter would only increase the pain and there really was no need for that. She could easy avoid it by sharing her worries with him.  
  
This morning she had told him about the notebook she’d glimpsed on his mother’s desk and that it looked like his list-book.  
  
In hindsight, she probably should have waited until he had finished unloading the dishwasher. The shock of what he was hearing weakened his grip and the plate had fallen right out of his hand. The expression clouding his face had been just like the night she had told him about the wreck. He stood speechless, fighting to come to terms with what he was hearing and trying to find a way to handle it.  
  
Felicity had once again managed to rattle Oliver’s trust in his mother—and she hated that. She hated seeing the desperation on his face, the betrayal, and the hope that, maybe, Felicity was mistaken. In an effort to console him, to give him some trust, Felicity had stressed the latter possibility. Maybe this was nothing but her jumping into unfair conclusions.  
  
But maybes didn’t work for Oliver. He needed definite answers.  
  
Which was why Felicity started the first morning after her resolution to focus on getting her company back on track with a call to Jerry to delay a meeting.  
  
As far as resolutions went that was pathetic.  
  
Sneaking into the office belonging to her mother-in-law felt equally pathetic.  
  
Oliver had made up some excuse about needing something from his room (the maid had seemed suspicious, but also familiar with dubious Queen-behavior). Moira was at QC, Thea was at school, but Felicity’s heart was still beating heavily. She felt uneasy being here. Going through Moira’s stuff seemed wrong, like she couldn’t sink any lower. Strangely, this felt even weirder than snooping through her email which, technically, was just as invasive.  
  
Taking position by the slightly opened door, Felicity divided her attention between the hall outside and Oliver, crossing the room with long strides. “You saw it on the desk?” he asked.  
  
“Yes, it was mostly covered by papers,” she whispered and frowned when she noticed that the desktop was perfectly empty. “Damn it.” So much for making this quick.  
  
She glanced toward the hall that lay empty and quiet. When her eyes travelled back to Oliver, he was checking the drawers. The rattling sound that followed made it clear that they were looked. In awe Felicity watched as he took two paper clips, straightened them a little and bent down to pick the lock.  
  
“Where did you learn that? Is that an assassin-skill? Or did the Russian mobsters teach you breaking and entering? Even though, when I think of them I always think of literal breaking, like kicking down doors. Were there any locks on Purgatory?”  
  
The questions left her lips before she even realized she was talking. His hands stopped moving and he glanced up at her. She bit her lip. “Sorry. Turns out, breaking and entering makes me nervous.”  
  
“Actually,” Oliver said as he focused his attention back on the lock, “that’s a pre-island-skill. My father started locking his liquor cabinet when I turned seventeen.” A barely audible ‘click’ ended his sentence and Oliver pulled the first drawer open, rummaged through it, then closed it again. A second drawer followed and a third and the aggravated sound of Oliver exhaling sharply.  
  
Felicity abandoned her post by the door and moved next to him. Together they looked down and saw what both had hoped not to find. Oliver didn’t move, he just stared at it, while his breathing turned more calculated. Felicity knew when he measured his breathing, inhaled and exhaled consciously, he was fighting for control, trying to deal with an emotional overload that was threatening to overwhelm him. Giving him the time he needed to process this, Felicity acted for him: she picked up the book and opened it.  
  
Relief washed through her. Thank God! Nothing! All pages were empty! A happy smile broke through the worried mask her face had become, but as she turned to Oliver the smile vanished from her lips. His eyes were glued to the opened notebook in her hand, his lips pressed together so tightly they were nearly completely gone. “Oliver,” she said softly. “This is good. I jumped to the wrong conclusion. It’s nothing; just a book that looks like yours.”  
  
Reluctantly, Oliver took the book from her and skipped through the pages until he abruptly turned around to the immaculate fireplace and reached for the long lighter resting on the mantelpiece. For a second Felicity feared he wanted to burn the notebook, but then she realized that he was slowly moving the flame over the flyleaf. Curiously, she stepped closer to him.  
  
An involuntary gasp left her lips. The heat of the flame raised markings on the page and after a moment Felicity recognized the same symbol she knew from Oliver’s book. He turned a few pages and brought the flame to the paper again. Their faces twisted in unison. Names. Their worst fears were confirmed.  
  
This was it, a second list.  
  
Oliver killed the flame. With a loud bang he slammed the lighter down on the mantelpiece. He gave himself another moment to look at the book. Felicity expected him to put it back; instead he pocketed it. Leaving the bottom drawer empty, he closed it. “What are you doing?” she asked, interrupting his efforts to lock the drawer cabinet again.  
  
“I’m taking the book. I need to check if it’s identical to my father’s.”  
  
“Don’t you think your mother’ll notice it’s gone?”  
  
“Don’t you think my mother will notice that the invisible ink is suddenly visible?”  
  
“I might not be good with breaking and entering, but I’m even worse with stealing. When I was ten I took a card from a supermarket that I thought was free and I only later noticed that it cost, like, forty cents. I never recovered from that.”  
  
The drawer was locked and Oliver stood. “I’m taking the list.”  
  
“What if your mother noticed that I noticed the book? What if the maid says that we were here? What if—”  
  
“Felicity. I’m taking the list.”  
  
He reached for her arm and led her out of the room. They didn’t say a word until Oliver steered the Mini from the driveway onto the street.  
  
Felicity’s eyes were glued to him. “What now?”  
  
“Now I’ll take you to work. You have a meeting in thirty minutes.”  
  
The matter-of-fact tone in his voice made her to blink. “What?”  
  
He gave her a quick sideways glance. “We agreed that you needed to focus on Firestorm for now. So, please, do that.”  
  
“That was before—”  
  
“Nothing’s changed.”  
  
“Everything’s changed.”  
  
His hands tightened around the steering wheel, white knuckles protruding. His jaw clenched. His emotional control was wavering, Felicity saw it in his hardening eyes, his twisting mouth, his tensing body. There was a part of her that wished he’d yell and let out a little of the aggravation that was so clearly inside him. Because she feared that if he didn’t, he’d blow in the worst way, in the worst situation.  
  
She was about to tell him that when he spoke up first. “This is my mother. I cannot just hood up and shoot her.”  
  
“Oliver, nobody thinks that you should. In fact, avoiding shooting people if possible should be a general rule that extends from your mother to everybody. But we need to deal with this, somehow. Maybe, you should finally go and talk to her.”  
  
Oliver slammed the steering wheel. His face twisted before he gave a jerk of his head. “I know. I’ll do that later.”  
  
“I can—”  
  
“NO!” His outburst caused Felicity to flinch. There it was: the wavered control. It and the volume of his voice weren’t unexpected, just sudden. His attempt to pull himself together was obvious—as was the fact that he was failing. His flat hand came down on the steering wheel again. And again. And again. And again. Dull thuds filled the car, a drumming increasing its tact with the hitting speeding up. Strangely, all Felicity could think when he was finally done was that his hand must be prickling. Oliver was breathing measuredly again, and Felicity decided to give him the silence he needed.  
  
The silence lasted nearly two minutes.  
  
Slowly, Oliver took his eyes off the road to glance at her. It was an unspoken ‘thank you’ that she answered with an equally silent nod. He placed his complete attention back on the road and said, continuing the conversation as if there hadn’t been a gap at all, “I’ll drive you to work. Let Diggle and me handle this. You concentrate on Firestorm.”  
  
“How can I concentrate on Firestorm with everything that’s going on?”  
  
The annoyance that crept into his voice showed that the anger was still bubbling close to the surface. “Stop it, Felicity! We agreed on this.”  
  
“But....” She sighed and saw that the softness in her voice got to him as she continued, “I feel like I’m leaving you hanging, like dropping a bomb on you and running away. I said I’d help you and now I’m not living up to my word.”  
  
He sent her a quick look filled with tenderness. “You’re helping me by making your company your main responsibility. Get this software going. Your chair in the Foundry isn’t going anywhere.” He dared the barest smirk. “I promise to slap Diggle if he tries to lift it.”  
  
She smiled weakly, noticing that his grip around the steering wheel had loosened at little. “I want to hear all the details about your talk with your mother.” He nodded, but she sensed his defiance. “I will nag you about talking to her until you do it—even if I’m not in the Foundry.”  
  
A sigh was his answer. “Believe me, Felicity, I know.”  
  
_______________________________  
  
  
His forearms burned from hitting the training dummy by the time Diggle entered the Foundry. One look was enough for the soldier to know that Oliver wasn’t really training but venting emotions. Being the brave man that he was, Diggle wordlessly changed and offered himself up as a sparring partner. The gesture calmed Oliver down, pulled him out of the dark headspace he had managed to retreat into, caused him to stop hitting as hard as possible in an effort to replace emotional with physical pain.  
  
For one hour they went through the motions, sparring, until the first word was uttered that wasn’t workout related. “So, you found a second list,” Diggle said and dabbed his forehead with a towel.  
  
Oliver stopped in the motion of unscrewing a water bottle. After a second all the pieces fell into place. “Felicity called you.”  
  
“She said you’re my responsibility until she squashed all the bugs.”  
  
“And she told you to tell me to talk to my mother.” Oliver wasn’t asking. He knew.  
  
The smile on Diggle’s face was answer enough, anyway. He lay the towel across both shoulders, gripping both ends in the front. “Did you check your mother’s book?”  
  
“I did. It’s identical to my father’s. Every name, it’s in there. The names The Hood targeted are also crossed off.”  
  
“You think your mother kept track of The Hood?”  
  
“It’s the only thing I came up with.”  
  
“Seems like you and your mom share a hobby.”  
  
The look Oliver sent his partner left no doubt that he wasn’t amused in the slightest.  
  
Diggle shrugged it off, turning serious. “Do you want to confront her with the book?”  
  
“If I do that she knows I’m the one who broke into her drawer. Bringing up the wreck is equally touchy.” He pushed his jaw forward, his hand tightened around the water bottle, unhappy with the whole fucking situation. His voiced tensed up. “On Thea’s birthday mom talked to Felicity about protecting her family at any cost. Two days ago she told Felicity to forget what was said. I’ll use that as an opening.”  
  
Thoughtfully, Diggle nodded agreement, but never got to add a vocal answer as an unfamiliar ringing sounded through the Foundry.  
  
Oliver frowned and went to the workbench where a cellphone came to life that had been plugged in but unused for months. “The phone I gave to Lance,” Oliver told Diggle, avoiding the ridiculous nickname – Hood-Phone – Felicity had given it. He answered, “Detective, I told you this phone couldn’t be traced.”  
  
 _“Hello. I need your help.”_  
  
Hearing this voice was so unexpected that Oliver’s posture involuntarily stiffened. His eyes snapped to Diggle as he asked a question he already knew the answer to. “Who’s this?”  
  
 _“Yes, sorry, this is Laurel Lance. I took the phone you gave my father.”_  
  
Just what Oliver needed. He barely kept from sighing. Seeing the frown of curious confusion on Diggle’s face, he said, “What do you want, Miss Lance?”  
  
 _“Cyrus Vanch. I want to bring him to justice. He’s connected to human trafficking, drug running, racketeering, and at least fifty-two different homicides. He was released on a technicality today and is living it up in his lawyer’s house—who’s missing.”_  
  
“Why don’t you get the police involved?”  
  
 _“They can’t move on him without evidence of new criminal activity.”_  
  
Oliver didn’t like this at all; he had very different things to worry about. “Obtaining evidence isn’t what I do.”  
  
 _“You once came to me, because you wanted me to free an innocent man. I did. You owe me. You need to help me convict that guilty maniac.”_  
  
In defeat, Oliver let his head fall back as he stared toward the ceiling. “Hold on to the phone.” Without another word he hung up.  
  
“What did Laurel want?”  
  
“I asked her for help last year and now she wants me to repay the favor. Cyrus Vanch, can you run a background check? Felicity said she connected all the important databases to an icon on the desktop.”  
  
“Sure. I’ll do that while you go and talk to your mother.”  
  
Oliver dropped the Hood-Phone onto the workbench carelessly. He really would much rather go meet a guy who had killed fifty-two people than his mother.... What a depressing thought! It spurred him into moving, “I should shower first.”  
  
____________________________________  
  
  
His mother’s EA had told Oliver that Moira Queen had time for a very late lunch. It had seemed strangely fitting to schedule a meeting. Having the EA block on hour made it feel more like a business transaction and less like mother and son talking. Part of Oliver liked that, another absolutely hated it.  
  
The latter had won and caused Oliver to actually bring lunch for them both. Lifting the bag slightly, he entered the glass office that his mother had offered him after he had returned to Starling City. “Your three o’clock is here, time for a break.”  
  
“Oliver,” Moira smiled from behind her desk. “I was surprised to see your name in my schedule.”  
  
“A nice surprise, I hope.”  
  
“Sweetheart, of course!” His mother got up and walked around the desk to greet him with a kiss on the cheek.  
  
His stomach was in knots, but he forced himself to return the smile. “I hope you’re hungry, I brought lunch.”  
  
“Oh,” Moira seemed surprised. “Actually, I have a work dinner tonight and I—”  
  
This sounded strangely familiar to Oliver. “Mom, I bought you a salad.” Seeing the questioning look on his mother’s face, he couldn’t stop himself from adding, “I’m married to a woman who underwent your training. Apparently, counting calories is a part of that.”  
  
Moira’s face hardened the barest bit. “It was necessary, Oliver. Felicity needed to be prepared for what it means to be a Queen. She was just an innocent little girl tossed into a situation she didn’t know how to handle. And I gave her the means to do so, I gave her the tools to deal with this in a way appropriate for a Queen.”  
  
His mother’s sudden defensiveness surprised him. She never justified her actions to him. In his experience, his mother never told him more than ‘it was necessary.’ But now Oliver couldn’t shake the impression that his mother needed him to understand that she had actually tried to help Felicity—while making sure the Queen family wasn’t embarrassed, of course. His shell, hardened by suspicion and mistrust, cracked a little. “I’m not here to fight.” Oliver stressed. “I’m just saying that I knew I couldn’t go wrong with a salad—dressing on the side.”  
  
The hardness left his mother’s face as quickly as it came. “Of course. I’m sorry, it has been a stressful day so far.” She motioned to the black leather seats positioned around a glass table.  
  
Today that seems to be the case for all the women he cared about. He handed his mother the boxed salad. “I just talked to Thea. Apparently, the only person she could relate to at CNRI’s a woman who’s on a pro bono sabbatical and mourning her six figure salary.”  
  
“Well, if it motivates your sister to try and get herself a six figure salary, I’m fine with that.” She sent Oliver a small smile before turning serious, “I really hope all of this is the wake-up call your sister needs.”  
  
Oliver couldn’t help but agree with a small nod. He reached for the pasta primavera he had gotten for himself. “Thea said that Walter also called her to check in. That’s very nice of him.” He was trying to convince himself that getting a conversation going was the best way to lead up to the things he wanted to discuss, but he knew that he was mostly playing for time. He stuffed his mouth to have an excuse not to say anything else.  
  
Moira stopped mid-movement, a forked tomato close to her lips. She let her hand sink again. “Walter cares about Thea.” She paused for a second and she seemed more resolute when she continued, “He’s needed in New York for the time being and I’m starting to enjoy my responsibilities here at Queen Consolidated. It’s a challenge.”  
  
Oliver chewed a little longer than necessary, using the time to search for words. Finally, he had to swallow. “I sense that Walter’s not coming back.”  
  
“It doesn’t seem like it,” Moira’s voice was steely. “But that’s not my decision.”  
  
So, Walter had left her. Why was Oliver not surprised? He sighed and put the pasta down. “Mom, Felicity told me about the conversation you had at Thea’s party.”  
  
Her back perfectly straight, Moira sat on the edge of the seat. “I also told her to forget about it.”  
  
“Yes. She told me that, too.” Oliver couldn’t help but add, “You know talking kinda helps when you’re married.”  
  
“I find it interesting that you feel entitled to hand out marriage advice.”  
  
Oliver pressed his lips together, avoiding his mother’s eyes. It took him a second to understand what she was doing, that she was deflecting with passive aggression. He faced her again and forced himself to stay calm. “I don’t. I just want to know what’s going on with you.”  
  
“I was worried about Felicity, about your wife. I don’t think that validates you questioning like this.” She put the fork down. “And I really thought you simply came by to spend some time with me.”  
  
He wouldn’t let her make him feel guilty. He just wouldn’t—he would guilt-trap her right back. The thought that they must be the most dysfunctional family ever popped up, but he buried it as quickly as it appeared. “Mom, I’m worried about you. With Walter gone, taking over QC business and Thea’s problems, you have a lot to deal with. And I know that I haven’t exactly made things easier. But I want to change that. So, tell me what I can do.”  
  
“You can just trust me that I’m handling things in the best interest of this family.”  
  
“What kind of things are you handling?”  
  
“Things that are none of your business.” Moira sighed. “Oliver, what I really need you to do is stop asking questions. You and Felicity, both.”  
  
“Don’t you think that we – that _I_ – deserve some answers?”  
  
She looked at him for a few very long seconds. “I love you, Oliver.”  
  
“That doesn’t answer anything.”  
  
Moira looked at her son and a sad smile played around her lips. “No, sweetheart. That’s the answer to everything.”  
  
_________________________________  
  
  
The lamp next to the sofa illuminated the content expression on Felicity’s face as she lay sleeping. Her book lay on the floor. Oliver picked it up, straightened a couple of crinkled pages, and placed it on the coffee table. Crouching down next to the couch, he reached for her glasses, carefully slipped them off her nose, where they had been resting rather crookedly and seemingly uncomfortable. He laid them next to the book. Gently, he brought the back of his fingers to her cheek, rousing her.  
  
She stirred nearly instantly. Her eyes came to life behind her closed eyelids before they fluttered open. She blinked at him.  
  
“Hey,” he greeted softly. “I told you not to wait up for me.”  
  
“Which, apparently, I didn’t.” Clearly, just waking up didn’t stop her from wise-assing, even if her voice was still coated with sleep. She blinked again, trying to focus. “What time is it?”  
  
“Past midnight.”  
  
She rolled onto her side, facing him with her left hand under her head while her right moved to his neck. “You look tired.”  
  
“I am.” He admitted and sat down on the floor. He stretched his legs out, his left ankle over his right, and turned his upper body to her. “How was work?”  
  
Felicity sighed. Her voice was quiet as she answered, “I decided to listen to Tak. I trust him and his judgment. I declined Wells’ offer. Even though, I have no clue how we’re supposed to save this software. It’s so buggy, it’s really bugging the hell out if me.”  
  
“You’ll figure it out,” he assured her and let his fingertips trail up her arm. “I know you will.”  
  
“I also decided that I need to hire somebody for PR. Damian says it’s the worst time to add more liability, but I think it’s a necessary investment.” She sighed. “I also think that only people with masochistic tendencies will apply.”  
  
“Or people who’re up for a challenge,” Oliver suggested, his fingers still drawing invisible circles on her skin.  
  
“Let’s hope.” Felicity’s fingers moved up to his jaw. “How was your work?”  
  
“Laurel called The Hood today.” A frown darkened her face and he explained, “Somehow she got the cellphone we gave to Lance.” He knew what would come next, so he said, “And, no, we’re not calling it the Hood-Phone.”  
  
He felt dim amusement from her, but she only asked, “What did she want?”  
  
“Help to bring down a dangerous criminal. Diggle checked; she has a point. The guy is a serious threat. After the talk with my mother I was in the mood to go after him. Sadly, my intel-gathering didn’t work out exactly as I’d planned.”  
  
Her hand let go of his face and she looked at him suspiciously. “What does that mean?”  
  
“I couldn’t get close. And the guy, Cyrus Vanch, noticed my arrow with the recording transmitter. Now it seems like he’d target The Hood.” Her blue eyes narrowed slightly and his hand settled on her shoulder. “It’s nothing to worry about. That guy’s all talk. He had, like, twenty guards around him. And if I know one thing it’s this: the more muscle somebody surrounds himself with, the smaller his own abilities.”  
  
“That coming from a guy who’s packed his apartment complex with security.”  
  
“I like people underestimating me.”  
  
“Maybe the same goes for Vanch.”  
  
“No,” he knew that with absolute certainty; this one word and the way he said it told her that clearly. He hesitated slightly before he continued, but he knew that he needed to tell Felicity the whole tale. Ripping off the bandage, he said, “I contacted Laurel and told her where to meet me so that I could hand her the information I gathered.... Her father and a whole squad of policemen showed up at the meeting to arrest me.”  
  
“What?” In her surprise, Felicity rose up on one arm. “Do you think it was a set-up and Laurel was in on it?”  
  
“It was a set-up, but I don’t think Laurel knew.”  
  
“Wow.” Oliver could see her brain digesting this information, but she didn’t comment on it. Instead, Felicity rested her head on her propped up arm. A supportive smile showed on Felicity’s face. “Tell me about the talk.”  
  
Swallowing the information that the officers had shot at him – there was no need for too much into detail – Oliver’s shoulders sagged a little. “I already did. I called you as soon as I left QC, as promised.”  
  
“You did, you told me what you said. And now tell me what wasn’t said. Why didn’t you press harder? You had so many things to rattle your mother with. The wreck, the list—”  
  
“She told me she loved me. And that that was everything.” Oliver rubbed his hand over his face before he let it drop to his lap. “It’s just that.... I hate that I mistrust her so much,” he admitted quietly, voicing his thoughts to her. “I remember how close we were... before I was... away. We would really talk... about everything. Just... stuff that happened. And now I feel like I have nothing left to say to her. But, despite that... she’s my mother and I love her, too.”  
  
“Of course you love her,” Felicity said softly. “I love my mother even though she bugged me about getting a boob job right until she died.”  
  
That sudden topical twist tripped Oliver. “What? Why would she do that?”  
  
“Because guys don’t like flat-chested brunettes.”  
  
“You’re not flat-chested!” That suggestion was outrageous to Oliver. “Your breasts are beautiful.”  
  
An amused snort escaped her, taking his comment as if it were a joke. “Why, thank you.”  
  
Oliver was already leaning in to her and bringing his lips to her neck before he realized what he was doing. “There’s no need to thank me—yet.” His tongue dipped against the spot behind her earlobe only to trace lower. He nibbled on her pulse point and felt the steady puckering turn a little quicker under his lips. He brought his hand up to cup her breast and whispered against her skin. “I also liked you as a brunette.”  
  
Her voice held a certain tension he had come to know quite well, but her next words showed him that she wasn’t willing to take the edge off. “Oliver, while I appreciate your appreciation, we’re not done talking about your mother.”  
  
He groaned.  
  
“I know you’re trying to distract me.”  
  
Apparently, he hadn’t put enough effort in. His lips and hand left her body. Shaking his head, he looked at his lap.  
  
Felicity scooted closer on the sofa. “Oliver, I know this is hard. And I get why you want to forget about—”  
  
“I don’t want to forget anything,” Oliver cut in, suddenly tense. His eyes settled on her. “I know I pushed this back for months, but I am considering the possibility that my mother might have been the one to blow up the boat. I’ve been doing that _for months_.” He was containing his anger as well as he could. There was still room for improvement, but Felicity didn’t back away from him. Her eyes were full of understanding. “I’m aware that my father’s list might’ve been the reason for that. I’m thinking about the fact that maybe I have it all wrong and that the list isn’t what I think it is. I’m trying to deal with that, Felicity, but it doesn’t make any sense to me. My mother, the woman I know, the woman who raised me, the woman who told me she loved me today, wouldn’t blow up the Gambit. I can’t bring myself to believe that!” He stopped and jerked his head, inhaling noisily. He swallowed, forcing some of the agitation down. “Which is why Diggle’s taking over.”  
  
“Over what?”  
  
“He’ll drive mom around for a couple of days and take the objective look at her that I’m incapable of. Maybe he’ll gather some intel. Diggle had a point when he said that I’ve been sitting on it for months and that a few days more won’t matter. We need to be sure. This is my mother.”  
  
Felicity reached for his hand and stopped his fingers from grinding against each other. He hadn’t even noticed he was doing it. “That’s a very good idea. I’m glad you’re listening to John.”  
  
“Well, you told him to look after me, so.... Apparently, he’s as whipped as I am and follows your orders.”  
  
A chuckle fled from Felicity’s lips. “What? You think I have you whipped? When I’m the one forced to take Pyotr everywhere?”  
  
He smiled a little. Maybe she had a point and it was mutual. But even if it wasn’t Oliver didn’t mind, because he knew one thing for sure: if it was her asking he’d do it, whatever ‘it’ was.  
  
As if she could read his thoughts, Felicity’s hand closed around his. For a short moment they just looked at each other. Felicity was the one to speak up first. “We’ll figure this all out. The two of us—plus John. And whatever’s revealed in the process, we’ll deal with it. You and I, okay?”  
  
He nodded and Felicity’s fingers slid over his palm, tracing his skin and settling around his wrist. Her thumb caressed his pulse point as she brought her face closer to his. “I know I kind of destroyed the mood before, but maybe I can erect i—” She crumbled and he couldn’t help but laugh. “OH MY GOD! Why does my brain always choose the wrong words?” She buried her face against the couch. “I should never try to be sexy,” she mumbled into the cushions. “It’s doomed to fail.”  
  
A smile was lighting up his face as he shook his head. He sat on the couch, bent down, and kissed the back of her neck. “Luckily, you’re sexy without even trying.”  
  
She actually groaned at that before she turned back over. “How can you make a cheesy sentence like that work? That’s so unfair.”  
  
Playfully, he shrugged and let his fingers slide under her top. “It’s a gift.” A thought crossed his mind and he added with a lame wink. “Want me to give it to you?”  
  
Now she laughed. When their eyes met he saw amusement and love sparkling in hers. The smile gracing her face showed him that she understood his teasing. But then something sparked in her eyes, it was a fire he had come to recognize and he never got tired of seeing it. Her hand slid to his stomach and crept under his sweater to caress his stomach. “Yes,” she answered. “I want that very much.”  
  
His hand closed around her waist. “See,” he told her, his voice deepening. “Not trying, very sexy.”  
  
  
  
 **February 3 rd, 2013**  
  
Oliver thought it was stupid. She knew. She didn’t care. She needed to do this.  
  
Tomorrow was the first day Valentina would come back to work. Valentina’s work was to clean the apartment—the very apartment that Felicity had been cleaning for four hours. The thought of this woman, who had been shot because of her, thinking that Felicity might be slob was unbearable—especially since it would be sort of true. Valentina knew that Felicity wasn’t fond of housework, but until now she hadn’t witnessed the full extent of this dislike, and Felicity was determined to keep it that way.  
  
The Sunday she had just spent cleaning only confirmed her dislike of housework.  
  
She glanced at her watch. She still had a little time until she needed to get ready. Tonight she would finally meet Yongtak’s boyfriend Christopher. All she remembered from their brief encounter on New Year’s Eve was that he had auburn hair (whenever she had looked over, Tak and Christopher had been sucking face). With one last glance around her bathroom Felicity decided that she had done all she could: the room as spotless. That was the clear advantage of small rooms, Felicity decided, they were faster to clean.  
  
The thought rang hollow. Felicity knew and pushed it away. She couldn’t fool herself and she wasn’t foolish enough to actually try and justify her preference for the tiny bathroom next to the gym by its cleaning convenience. The truth she had to accept was that whenever she entered the big bathroom, memories of the invasion crashed down on her: the desperation to shut the door before the man reached her, the dreadful realization that she couldn’t hide, couldn’t run, the sound of the gunshot and the glass bursting, the feeling of the door and a fist connecting with her face. The room had been spotless when she and Oliver had come back after spending the night at the Four Seasons. All visible reminders had been erased, the shower wall had been replaced, the blood had been wiped away. But the memories remained.  
  
Oliver had suggested that she should talk to a professional.  
  
Oliver ‘The Hood’ Queen had suggested that.  
  
He had to be kidding her!  
  
He had also suggested building a panic room—which she had refused. The thought of having and needing such a room brought on panic. Both suggestions had been answered by a clear and definite ‘no’. (Of course, Oliver’s reaction was to turn the whole damn building into one huge panic room.) She had also decided that the day Valentina came back to work was the day that she’d use her old bathroom again. If Valentina could enter the apartment she had nearly bled out in, Felicity could enter the room that had given her a tiny scar in her eyebrow. Tomorrow, she had decided, enough would be enough.  
  
Ruefully accepting that her apartment was cleaner than usual and feeling like she had really accomplished something, Felicity decided that she had time for a quick coffee before she headed to Yongtak’s. She really didn’t want to fall asleep on him and his boyfriend and some caffeine couldn’t hurt.  
  
“I cleaned up the worst mess,” she declared as she headed down the hall toward their main room. “And you better don’t mess wi—” The bad pun died on her tongue as she turned the corner and suddenly saw Tommy Merlyn sitting on her couch by Oliver.  
  
That was unexpected. She didn’t know Oliver had company, hadn’t heard the phone. Damn vacuum! There also was an unexpected and unfamiliar seriousness on the broke billionaire’s face.  
  
“Tommy,” she said in stupid surprise. “Hi.”  
  
A moment of silence followed in which Tommy took her appearance in, the old cargo pants, the tank top, and the messy bun that were appropriate for cleaning. Finally he said, his eyes sad, “Hello, Felicity.”  
  
This was unexpected. In question she looked at the two sitting men.  
  
“Tommy just told me that Laurel’s been working with The Hood,” Oliver explained, his eyes firmly placed on Felicity. “And that she’s been lying about it.”  
  
“Keeping it from me,” Tommy corrected—as if that was any better.  
  
A sarcastic huff escaped Felicity before she could stop herself. “That sucks, doesn’t it?” The way both men looked at her (Tommy honestly taken aback; Oliver with a threatening glare that told her ‘don’t do this’ clearly) caused her to vocally retreat. “It’s just.... You hardly have a right to complain about Laurel not telling you everything when you lied to her about being Oliver’s best man... or kept it from her.”  
  
Tommy’s defenses shot up, she could sense it and she heard it in his voice when he said. “Oh, now you’re defending her?!”  
  
“I’m not. I’m just saying...” She saw Oliver’s face and knew his face had a point, “that all of this is none of my business.”  
  
She was about to turn around when Tommy stopped her. “The thing is that we’re dating now,” he reasoned. “Back in Vegas there wasn’t anything going on between Laurel and me. It’s not like Ollie told you about every supermodel he banged before he was with you.”  
  
“You had sex with a supermodel?” Felicity looked at Oliver and felt like she had phrased that question poorly. “You had sex with more than one supermodel?” Shaking her head, she willed those thoughts to go away, because, “That’s beside the point. The point is that there’s a difference, because the best-man-thing is relevant for your relationship with Laurel, but that you had sex with Vicky that night isn’t.” She moved her hand through the air in a broad gesture. “It’s like: I never told Oliver about the lacrosse-player that stalked me in college, but he knows that I was briefly engaged. Because one matters in the big picture while the other doesn’t.” She swallowed the information that it had taken four months until she had told Oliver about Ray, because—that didn’t matter in the big picture she was painting.  
  
“Yeah, right,” Tommy frowned. “You were engaged to that watch-guy.”  
  
Tipping his head to the side, Oliver ignored his best friend. “What lacrosse-player?”  
  
Felicity met her husband’s eyes, evenly. “I’ll tell you about him when you tell me about the supermodels.”  
  
Tommy obviously wasn’t in the mood for their banter. He jumped up from the couch. “The thing is.... Laurel and The Hood—there’s some sort of infatuation thing going on there.” He looked at Oliver. “We both know that she has a pretty strong track record of being attracted to guys who are dangerous, who break the rules. Show me a more dangerous rule breaker than The Hood.”  
  
“But maybe there’s a Mrs. Hood.”  
  
Felicity couldn’t believe that those words had actually left her lips. The expression on Oliver’s face told her that he couldn’t either; it shifted between amusement and disbelieve. To Felicity only the latter made sense. It was unbelievable that those words had escaped her—and that she was actually adding more. “I’m just saying, we don’t know who he is. He might not even be available.” Adopting one of Oliver’s habits, she pressed her lips together and willed any further words to stay in.  
  
Tommy frowned at her.  
  
Oliver tried to direct his best friend’s attention on him. “I think you need to have an honest chat with her. Find out the real reason she’s keeping secrets. And, maybe, tell her some of the things you’re keeping from her. She agreed to marry you, Tommy. That’s real, the other thing’s just fantasy. Felicity’s right: Laurel doesn’t know the crazy person who’s running around with that hood. She doesn’t care about him.”  
  
Slowly, Tommy nodded, but then he turned back to Felicity who still stood by the door and wished she would have just continued cleaning. “You met the guy, right?”  
  
“Met—that’s a bit much. I saw him, like, twice.”  
  
“And how was that?”  
  
The question brought Felicity back to the Exchange Building, to the moment when a guy in a tight leather outfit had crashed through a window and drawn a bow. And there was only one word to answer that question. “Surreal.” It should be enough, but – of course – it wasn’t. “I mean I was glad to see him both times, because he was clearly the good guy in both scenarios, but other than that I never much cared about the guy in the hood.”  
  
It wasn’t just a dismissive statement to feed Tommy. It was the absolute truth: the caring started for Felicity when the hood came off. The guy underneath was all that mattered to her. She had never seen the vigilante; right from the start she had seen the guy she shared an apartment with, the guy who she cared about. Oliver was right, she realized: Laurel didn’t care about the person wearing the costume, she cared about what The Hood represented. Or maybe Tommy exaggerated the caring. Maybe, he was jealous over nothing and projecting his own insecurities onto this whole thing. Maybe, Laurel only cared about the usefulness of The Hood and the way he could help her get the information she needed.  
  
Tommy looked at Oliver. “Lucky you, meeting the only girl in Starling who doesn’t want to get into The Hood’s pants.”  
  
“What?!” The snap fled from Felicity’s lips in spontaneous shock. Instantly, she felt caught and went for the biggest cliché of an excuse known to modern (and probably even ancient solar clock reading) man. “It’s so late already? Wow, I have to get ready for my dinner date—with two people who also don’t want the get into The Hood’s pants, by the way. Okay, they are both male, but since they’re getting into male pants, they could be interested in—” She motioned toward the hall. “I’m leaving.” Turning around without another word, she left.  
  
She heard Tommy’s voice coming from the living room before she escaped into the bedroom. “Seems like she’s not as unaffected by The Hood as she wants you to believe.”  
  
“Yes,” Oliver answered hesitantly. “That’s what it seems like.”


	27. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Spoiler for 3.23 – consider yourselves warned] Is anybody else riding a unicorn across a rainbow with heart-eyes? ♥ I’m still not over the season three finale and I can’t believe _that_ actually happened. Feels too good to be true somehow.[Spoiler out]
> 
> Sorry, I had to get that out, because – you know – feelings. ;)
> 
> Okay, I have to make this quick, but I wanted to get this chapter to you before I’ll be MIA for the next week. I’m looking at a very offline vacation. But I’ll be back soon. So let me just say: I always love your wonderful comments and reactions. You are amazing and I am forever grateful. Much love.
> 
> The wonderful **Albiona** approved this and I am forever thankful she finds the time to help me despite her crazy schedule.
> 
> Okay, this is a plot-moving chapter. I expect words about it and I am ready to explain (when I’m back). ;) Love, Jules

**February 6 th, 2013**  
  
Apparently, “verdant” was timeless with an edge.  
  
For weeks Tommy Merlyn had pondered what to call the club. The result was Verdant—and very suspicious, if you asked Oliver Queen. Was it a hint that Tommy knew what lay underneath the dance floor? Was this his friend’s way of telling him that he _knew_? Or was it simply a coincidence?  
  
The sign with the green – pardon, verdant – ‘V’ dangled from a truck crane that heaved the thing into position above the entrance. Oliver’s eyes were glued to it as his brain skipped through all the various possibilities that came with this name. The workers were fighting to get the huge sign up safely. It was a particular windy day in a February that was particularly cold by Californian standards. The zipper of his brown jacket was pulled up as high as it would go as Oliver stood next to his friend in front of the factory that was turning more into a venue with each passing day.  
  
“What do you think?”  
  
Tommy’s voice cut into Oliver’s worrying. Making sure his face was even, Oliver turned away from the sign swinging heavily. “Why Verdant?” he asked as neutrally as possible.  
  
Wind tore at Tommy’s dark hair. He met Oliver’s eyes. “Because the phrase ‘Hey, wanna come party at Verdant’ just works. It has a cool ring to it, sounds like a place to be. Understated and sophisticated.”  
  
“Understated and sophisticated?” Oliver couldn’t help but feel relieved. There wasn’t the slightest doubt within him: Tommy’s reasons for christening his club didn’t involve any hidden intent. He relaxed his shoulders a little. “I never thought anybody would describe anything we did with those words.”  
  
Tommy chuckled. “We’re turning a new page. We’re business men now. Our business is a good party.”  
  
“That, on the other hand, sounds very much like us.”  
  
Another laugh, and Tommy brought his hand to his friend’s shoulder. “Thanks for doing this with me.” He motioned toward the sign, still swaying in the wind while the workers yelled instructions at each other. “This is the start of something great, of something that’s my own and not my father’s.”  
  
Thoughtfully, Oliver looked at his best friend who was pouring his heart and soul into this club, who had cut cords with his father over it. Malcolm Merlyn was a horrible person, Oliver knew, still he couldn’t help but think that, maybe, Tommy would one day regret the rift separating them. Giving himself an inward shove, he asked, “How are things with your father?”  
  
A shrug was Tommy’s immediate reaction, followed by a short, “Tense.” Oliver was debating whether to inquire further when Tommy changed the subjected, “But things with Laurel are better. So, that’s good.”  
  
No matter how much Oliver wished it were, this wasn’t a topic that could be ended with a quick nod. The fact that Laurel had been kidnapped by Cyrus Vanch to lure out The Hood wasn’t exactly something Oliver wanted to talk about, but Tommy’s best friend couldn’t ignore it. “How’s she doing?”  
  
“She’s handling the whole thing better than I thought. I guess now both of our girls were rescued by The Hood.”  
  
“Not the best club to be in,” Oliver dismissed.  
  
“Absolutely not,” Tommy agreed. “But things are tense between Laurel and her dad. First, he used her as bait to lure The Hood out. Then, one of his policeman told Vanch that Laurel had a connection to The Hood.”  
  
“The latter is hardly her father’s fault.”  
  
“Yeah, but her old man would’ve shot Vanch if it wasn’t for The Hood. Laurel’s really disappointed.” Tommy sighed. “Women! Crushing on a murderer, but judging their fathers for protecting them.”  
  
Was that an attempt to lighten the mood, Oliver wondered? Because if it was, it sucked. He dug his brain for something to say. “It’s just good that she came out of the whole thing unharmed. Maybe she’ll stay away from the hood guy from now on.”  
  
“Quentin took the phone back.”  
  
Oliver looked at his best friend. “Good,” he stated with emphasis, because, really, that was good, better for everybody involved. Silence settled over the friends as they both stared ahead, watching the sign being lifted into position, swaying in the wind that was still picking up. Oliver enjoyed the quiet moment, but he felt Tommy shift his weight next to him.  
  
Tommy lasted a few seconds, then he sighed heavily. “I told Laurel the truth about Vegas.”  
  
Stupidly, Oliver blinked at the other man, because: wow! Oliver knew that he wasn’t an expert on such things and was hardly a person with any right to judge, but even he couldn’t help but think that dropping such a thing on somebody right on the heels of a traumatic experience was... not so good. His face twisted a little. “And?”  
  
“And she yelled. _A lot_.”  
  
“Didn’t you say things were better between you?”  
  
“They are now. Because after we both stopped yelling—”  
  
“You yelled, too?”  
  
“Of course I did! She went behind my back to The Hood.”  
  
Oliver chose to spare himself any more details. He just wanted a conclusion. “I take it you worked through all those issues and the wedding is still on.”  
  
“Definitely on. Very on. All’s good.”  
  
“Good!” Oliver tried a smile. “I’m happy for you.”  
  
“Thanks, buddy. I just hope that nobody else operates under the false impression that Laurel’s a good way to get to The Hood. With all the people she’s pissing off by being an amazing lawyer, I really can’t deal with her having another bullseye on her back.”  
  
Slowly, Oliver nodded. “I’m sure it was just a onetime thing.” Oliver hoped so. Putting Laurel in harm’s way – putting anybody in harm’s way, actually – was the last thing he wanted. But despite that he couldn’t deny the relief that people seemed to have no idea how to really get to him. The whole episode with Laurel had proven that he must have done a good job concealing his identity. If he hadn’t, it wouldn’t have been Laurel tied to that chair in Vanch’s luxurious hideout.  
  
Oliver motioned toward the workers struggling with the sign and the wind. “I think we should call this off, if we don’t want to start our business with an accident.”  
  
“Yeah,” Tommy nodded. “Crushed by Verdant. Bad headline—if it’s not related to Poison’s shutdown. Max Fuller won’t know what hit him when we open next month. It will be epic!”  
  
  
  
**February 8 th, 2013**  
  
Damian might be the guy for the numbers but this was ridiculous.  
  
“You’re working in a software company,” Felicity told him. “You should know not to install the Google Tool Bar.”  
  
“Seriously?” Sitting on his chair in front of his computer screen, he looked up at Felicity, standing next to him. “That’s the biggest problem you have when you look at the computer screen?”  
  
“It’s the only thing I can do anything about right now.” She gestured towards the monitor and the numbers piling up there.  
  
“You can keep from hiring somebody else and not drag these numbers down even further.”  
  
Felicity wouldn’t have the same discussion again. She just couldn’t. “You know what?! Fine. It’s not like anybody’s applied anyway. Happy now?” She saw that her CFO wanted to add something and brought her hand up. “It’s decided. Done with! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to try to figure out why the damn software deems all jpgs attached to emails as malware.”  
  
With quick steps she headed out of his office (next to Felicity and Tak, Damian was the only one who had a door to close—a possibility Felicity ignored) and walked across the loft-like room on the third floor toward her own office. It took effort to push the feeling of helplessness away. The image was very cliché, but it kept popping up in front of her inner eye: herself trying to plug holes in a boat with her bare hands while, despite her best efforts, the water still streamed around her fingers, steadily filling the boat. She was drowning, figuratively. The bugs were making her go crazy. As soon as one was fixed another one popped up. It was as if the bug were updat—  
  
Felicity stopped. She had been about to enter her office but instead turned around and nearly ran through the room and down the stairs to the floor below where, Yongtak was standing next to Paige’s desk, pointing at something on the screen (most likely something that wasn’t working). Not slowing down, Felicity grabbed his arm and pulled him after her.  
  
An accusatory “HEY!” left Tak’s lips as he stumbled into his office. Felicity firmly closed the door. Hauntingly, she looked at her trusted friend and said forcefully but quietly, “Google Tool Bar!” Nothing but confusion came from Tak and she clarified, “It’s on Damian’s computer.”  
  
Tak rolled his eyes. “He’s such a noob, honestly! Biggest computer loser of Firestorm.”  
  
Felicity made a dismissive gesture. “That’s hardly new information. And besides the point. The point is: the damn Tool Bar is on his PC!”  
  
The frown darkening the master coder’s face lifted after a second. “But it can’t be....”  
  
“I _shouldn’t_ be,” Felicity corrected, her eyes glued to Tak. “Not with the restrictions we implemented. Updates of all kinds are limited to admin access—aka you and me. Did you install the Google junk? ‘Cause I didn’t.”  
  
Felicity could see Tak’s brain working overtime as his eyes danced left and right. “A virus,” he breathed finally. “But that can’t be. Our firewall is solid.” He looked at her, willing her to trust him. “One hundred percent! I checked. Since the attack I check every day. There were no attacks, nothing unusual, definitely no breaches.”  
  
“What if the virus didn’t come from the outside?”  
  
“An inside job?” Yongtak looked like he wanted to laugh before consternation took over. “Seriously? Where’s all this paranoia coming from?”  
  
The answer was a list of names (ironically). The most prominently listed name was Moira, of course. Her actions had rooted very paranoid thoughts inside Felicity. If considering that your mother-in-law might have been involved in blowing up a boat carrying her husband and son wasn’t paranoid, Felicity didn’t know what was. Oliver was also on that list and Diggle. Both men had made her suspicious of people’s intentions—even more than she had been before. Did she want to consider that one of her employees might have betrayed her? _No._ Did she have to consider it to cover all her bases? Yes!  
  
Ignoring Tak’s question, Felicity said firmly, “It’s a possibility. One that would explain a lot.”  
  
“That would also mean we’re stupid.” Tak moved an unruly hand over his forehead and further up, scratching his scalp. “Missing this virus for weeks, probably _months_ , would be utterly stupid. Are we stupid, Fe?”  
  
“There’s the possibility that we are.” Her mouth tightened. “We need to check to make sure that we aren’t.”  
  
“Without anybody finding out,” Tak added. “If you’re right and it’s an inside job, we have to make sure we don’t spook anybody.”  
  
“You and I,” Felicity ordered. “Overtime. Tonight.”  
  
“Overtime’s good. That’s probably an all-nighter.” Tak frowned. “Does your bodyguard get a bonus for night shifts?” A playful gleam crept into his eyes. “Or maybe it was him. Peter and his PS Vita.” Hearing that, Felicity visibly froze in shock while Tak stilled in disbelief. “I’m just kidding. Geez. Seriously, you’re too paranoid. He’s just a sweet Russian kid who kills at GTA.”  
  
No, he really wasn’t. He was a mobster for hire who she believed to be loyal to the rank the man she loved held in the Russian mafia.  
  
How was it possible that a sentence like that described her life?  
  
She needed to talk to Oliver. “We’ll know more tonight.” She motioned to his head. “Fix your hair. If you go out looking like that everybody’ll nothing something’s up.”  
  
  
  
**February 10 th, 2013**  
  
The bullets drilled into the wall, leaving behind a scattering of holes in the grey concrete. The rattling of the Kalashnikov cut through the room again and un-aimed bullets sprayed into the air. A man stood next to the opened crate in a wide stance. His purple shirt was opened two buttons too many, revealing a meaty chest with a golden chain tangling in his black chest hair. His knees were bent and his mouth twisted as he moved his automatic rifle left and right and left again in an uncontrolled gesture that was supposed to look tough but just wasted ammunition.  
  
The Hood evaded the bullets easily, took cover behind another crate, then kept moving. The guy was still wasting ammo when The Hood suddenly appeared behind him. The sole of his foot hit the hollow of the gunman’s knee with force. The cracking of his bone breaking followed, but The Hood paid no mind as his elbow connected with his opponent’s face. Blood gushed out of a broken nose. Another calculated hit sent that man into unconsciousness. The Hood drew his bow instantly and shot, aiming in a millisecond.  
  
The arrow hit perfectly with a soft clink, followed by a clacking and a gasp. On the other side of the warehouse, the last man stared at the ground, unable to believe that The Hood had just shot the gun out of his hand. In the distance sirens wailed, coming closer. The Hood had to make it quick. In the blink of an eye he was with the skinny man who – now that he had lost his firearm – was suddenly much less brave. He held his hands up in a surrendering manner, but The Hood’s fist was already on the move and even though he could have, he wasn’t in any mood to spare him. Knocked out, the man sank to the floor.  
  
Taking a moment to make sure he hadn’t missed anybody that could give the nearing police any trouble, The Hood let his eyes sweep over the room and the crates filled with firearms. The Bratvas would have to do without that fresh batch of automatic rifles. The vigilante looked down at the pale, unconscious man at his feet, the tailored suit and perfectly shined shoes. Matthew Astin—another name to cross off his list. Satisfied with the results of the last five minutes, The Hood hurried toward the exit as the sirens grew close, blue lights already visible. He had to hurry—to escape the police and to pick up his wife from work. Couldn’t be late for either.  
  
__________________________________  
  
  
Felicity Queen had failed her company.  
  
Felicity Queen hadn’t noticed there was a virus on her server for... well, if her suspicion was right, she had failed to do so for _months_.  
  
That realization was the worst thing that had happened to her this year—which was saying a lot, because, even though it was only February, her January had started with getting kidnapped.  
  
The virus wasn’t deadly. Which was a bad thing, actually. If it had just killed the server it wouldn’t have been so bad. This virus had actually opened a backdoor in their firewall. The thing that was deeply rooted in their system was a masterpiece, making down- and uploads possible despite their vigorous firewall.  
  
Suddenly, things became absolutely clear: this explained the increasing bugs in the software. It also triggered new questions, because Felicity was absolutely sure that nobody in her company was able to come up with anything like this—apart from herself and Tak.  
  
On Friday, Yongtak Chang had reacted with a hood-moment. Not that he knew that Felicity called it that in her head. Tak had dealt with the aggravation that came with the realization that they were indeed stupid by throwing a mouse through the room—or, rather, at the floor. Yongtak’s throwing technique was worse than Felicity’s.  
  
Felicity, on the other hand, had called it a night. She needed to think and come up with the smartest way to handle this. The decision she made after a sleepless night spent pacing and talking (thinking out loud) in her main room under the watchful eyes of Oliver was to use the backdoor to her advantage. She would find out who was behind all of this and what all of it was about.  
  
The words between the flow of expletives Yongtak had uttered Friday evening showed that he believed this wascorporate espionage. But he didn’t know what Felicity knew, couldn’t consider the failed research that had let a hacker into her network and led her to Tempest and a wreck in a warehouse. A persistent voice inside her told her there was a connection between the hacker and the virus—a voice that had turned louder after Oliver commented that distraction was a powerful strategy in war (that sounded like Sun Tzu—in retrospect Oliver talking about war and possibly quoting a Chinese military master freaked her out, but back then she had been too distracted by being distracted to care.)  
  
Whatever the reason, one fact was clear: somebody had planted a virus on her server—which was impossible from the outside. During their first dinner, Oliver had told Felicity that that was what people did: betray you. That statement had rang very fatalistic in Felicity’s ears back then. It sounded much less so now.  
  
“Okay, Fe, we were stupid before, but this thing is brilliant.” Tak leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. “We fucking outdid ourselves.”  
  
Taking her eyes off her own monitor, Felicity looked at him. She sat behind her desk, a laptop in front of her, while Tak had gotten comfortable in her sitting area, his laptop on his legs, his feet on the table. The useless thought that his back must hurt popped into Felicity’s mind. He had been sitting in roughly the same position for twelve hours, since noon. They’d spent the whole Sunday – after a Saturday spent with thoroughly analyzing the virus – coding a counter program on a second, separate, secure network.  
  
Considering everything (the fact that they had missed the virus for months, that they hadn’t suspected anything sooner, that this stank of an inside job, that she had been bested at her field of expertise, that she had obviously trusted somebody who wasn’t trustworthy) Felicity honestly felt like they had no right to be cocky. She sent Yongtak an angry glance across the room.  
  
“Hey, don’t give me that. We pulled a rabbit out our hat with this one.” He motioned to his laptop. “We should use this as a foundation for a whole new kind of firewall. Scratch the infected shit altogether.”  
  
Slowly, Felicity nodded. It was a good suggestion, a smart thing to do next. Their program was designed to notice the backdoor opening and follow the signal to its home-IP. This piggy-backing gave – or at least should give – them access to the hacker’s system while directing the hacker to a virtual environment where he couldn’t do any harm. They could tweak the entire procedure into a general counter-measure.  
  
The doorbell rang, the sound barely audible from three floors below, but Brad Foster still looked into the room. “I’ll check,” he said.  
  
“It’s probably my boyfriend,” Yongtak told him. “Christopher said he’d pick me up around midnight.” Tak grinned at Felicity, “Boyfriend.... I still can’t get used to that. Can you believe that I got myself a boyfriend?” After quickly glancing toward the open door, he whispered, “Your new bodyguard, how does he hold a key without a thumb?”  
  
“He uses the other hand.” Felicity placed her attention back to her screen. She really wasn’t in the mood to discuss her new bodyguard. Letting Pyotr go hadn’t been a logically-founded decision. The Russian had done nothing wrong. His only flaw was being part of the Russian mob and with everything that was happening lately, Felicity felt like distancing herself from them—and since there was no way that she would let Valentina go, it had to be Pyotr. Oliver had agreed, but insisted on replacing him with a member of their new security team and had suggested Brad. The black belt had taken up the offer instantly for financial and ceremonial reasons, as Felicity had found out. His fiancée Melody, who owned a flower shop downtown, wanted a massive wedding and even though Oliver paid well, Brad could use the extra money.  
  
Felicity tried to limit the nightshifts, but one had been necessary tonight, since Oliver had expressed the need to hit something. Felicity knew that even though it sounded wrong, giving Oliver the opportunity to vent some of his frustrations was the right thing to do. After a week of John shadowing Moira and coming up empty, plus two evenings spent with Tak and Felicity looking at a computer screens and arguing over things he didn’t understand, he had been... strained.  
  
“Man, Fe!” Yongtak voice startled her out of her thoughts. “Would you stop brooding? That’s not you. Just accept it: our program is genius. We’re genius.”  
  
“I’m dating a genius. I’m not surprised.”  
  
Looking up again, Felicity saw Christopher enter her office—followed by Oliver.  
  
“Proof that young love is blind,” Felicity commented dryly. Tak only stuck his tongue out at her before he accepted a peck by Chris.  
  
Oliver’s eyes were glued to her. He crossed the room and moved around the desk to her. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he bent down and kissed her cheek. “You okay?”  
  
“Not yet, but working on it,” was her honest answer.  
  
“Okay,” Tak threw his hands up. “What’s with all the monosyllabic crap? What’cha doin’?”  
  
For a second she hesitated, feeling slightly guilty, but then she turned to look at the couple watching her. “I cleared Jerry. There’s nothing that suggests that he planted the virus on the server.”  
  
Tak stopped mid-movement, his hand hovering over Chris’ knee, who sat next to him. “You checked Jerry?”  
  
“I did. I also checked Katie. She’s clean, too. Nothing on her phone or financial records.” She met Yongtak’s eyes. “They were both there when we sat up the new server.”  
  
For a second Yongtak stared at her. Understanding took over. His hand flew to his head. “Fuck it!” he cursed. “I always thought somebody crashed our servers because they wanted us to lose information. But they didn’t. They wanted us to start anew with a system that was contaminated from the start. That’s why we never found anything. It blended in with the first setup.” Yongtak’s face twisted. “Fuck, that’s really, really clever.” Felicity shot him a look. Yongtak raised his hands in innocence. “What? You gotta give credit when credit is due.”  
  
Oliver’s hands closed around Felicity’s shoulders in silent support. She sighed and changed the subject, “Next time they’ll access our virtual network we’ll know what they’re looking for.”  
  
Setting his laptop down on the table in front of him, Tak leaned forward. “You know what all of this reminds me of?” Not waiting for a reaction, he said, “The dude that hacked your home-system.” Nearly apologetic, he looked at Felicity. “He had serious skills and we never found out what that was about. The attack on Firestorm started not long after.”  
  
Felicity noticed Oliver’s hands tightening around her shoulders, knowing it was a sign of his tension. The clenching in her own shoulders should tell him that Felicity didn’t like Tak bringing that up – and remembering it to begin with – either. This was the one drop too many. Suspicions and apprehensions, fears and frustrations had filled her up for two days and had dragged her and her mood down. She had fought against it, but she couldn’t anymore. “I know,” she snapped at Tak. “But I don’t want to speculate on that! I need to know who I can trust in my own company!”  
  
A moment of silence followed. The harshness in Felicity’s voice shut all men up for a moment. Oliver’s grip on her shoulder was still strong, it grounded and comforted her. Trying to balance her tipping emotions, she took a deep breath. Nobody in this room was to fault for what was going on. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking at the couple sitting next to each other.  
  
Accepting her apology, Yongtak nodded. Then he sat up straighter in his seat. “Paige, Marlon, Freddy, and James.”  
  
Now all Felicity could do was nod. Those were the four people they had trusted with helping setting up the server. “I’ll take Paige and Marlon.”  
  
Tak reached for his laptop again when his boyfriend stopped him in mid-movement. “Hold up. It’s past midnight.”  
  
“Babe, I need another hour. That’s all.”  
  
For a moment the two men looked at each other. Then Christopher sighed. “I have a pepperoni pizza in the car. Let me go and get it.”  
  
“Thank you,” Tak answered and gave him a kiss before he left the office.  
  
An honest smile played on Felicity’s lips. She gestured toward the door. “He’s a keeper.”  
  
Her friend blushed. “I know.” He got off the couch. “Okay, I gotta pee before I go and violate our employees’ privacy.” He went to the door but turned round before stepping out of the room. “Thank you for not questioning me, Fe.”  
  
Felicity smiled. “Of course, Tak. I trust you.”  
  
She watched her friend leave the room and only seconds later Oliver’s lips hovered close to her ear. His voice was the faintest whisper, “You checked him, right?”  
  
“First thing on Friday.”  
  
“And his boyfriend?”  
  
“Clean, too.” She turned around to face Oliver, the immense guilt showing on her face. “I hate myself for doing that.”  
  
“I know.” He kissed her. “But this is necessary to protect yourself. You’re handling this perfectly.”  
  
That was a statement Felicity honestly didn’t agree with, but she didn’t have the power to voice her disagreement.  
  
Damn it, catching a virus was really exhausting.  
  
  
  
**February 11 th, 2013**  
  
The sticks crashed against each other with a staccato clacking. Diggle was getting better with this, challenging Oliver more and more. But there was still room for improvement: Oliver blocked Diggle’s attack, redirecting it away from him with so much force that his sparring partner lost his footing and left his body open. Turning, Oliver brought his stick to the back of Diggle’s legs. In the next moment he looked down at Diggle, his back on the mat, trying to catch the breath that had been knocked out of him.  
  
“You’re getting better,” Oliver complimented and really meant it.  
  
A snort left the other man’s lips. “Yeah. Right.”  
  
“Another round?”  
  
“Naw,” Diggle objected, “I think I’ve had enough. Plus, your mother’s expecting me in an hour. I’m driving her downtown.”  
  
“I’m beginning to doubt the use.”  
  
The phrasing was the careful way to put it. Because after a week of driving Oliver’s mother, Diggle hadn’t discovered anything. Oliver couldn’t even say what he had expected, but this whole lot of nothing was exhausting. It was tearing at his nerves as it became more and more obvious that he might have to do something he dreaded more than anything: talking to his mother again and pressing harder. He didn’t know if he could do that.  
  
“Two more days and her driver’s back. Give me ‘til Wednesday, then we can make a decision.” Diggle reached for a bottle of water. “Plus, your head’s with Felicity anyway.”  
  
Oliver pressed his lips together. Diggle knew him too well already. His partner was absolutely right: his thoughts were with Felicity. He was worried about her and his frustrations were growing. Because that was all he was reduced to: thinking and worrying. This was Felicity’s fight, her battlefield. He was of no help to her at all—and he hated that. A vague danger was wavering around them and coating the air with tension, but it couldn’t be pin-pointed exactly. A nameless foe was lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike.  
  
This hacker was her equivalent of his other archer.  
  
And Felicity wasn’t in the battle alone. She had Tak. Oliver agreed that he could be trusted and that she had an able ally, but she was out there fighting while he was reduced to watching. The knowledge that Felicity had mastered her weapons, that she was very good at what she was doing, didn’t calm him enough. Being a bystander wasn’t his strong suit and it was testing his nerves.  
  
The annoyance was audible in his voice as he said, “It’s not like I can do anything anyway.”  
  
“Trust Felicity, Oliver,” Diggle said. “She’ll identify who’s behind it—and then you can hood up.”  
  
Oh, he was _so_ looking forward to that.  
  
______________________________  
  
  
There was no better distraction than her best friend. Kristina ran up the stairs to the third floor, raised her fist into the air, yelled, “Guess who’s the new Head Nurse of the RQM!”, and chased all brooding thoughts away for the moment.  
  
The assembled Firestormers stared stupidly at the brunette, but the blonde boss of the whole thing laughed. From where she stood next to Jerry’s desk, Felicity pointed across the room. “This girl!”  
  
Kristina directed two thumbs up at herself. “THIS GIRL!” Her steps bordering on skipping, she headed to her best friend. “Head Nurse—that sounds kind of dirty, but I dig it!”  
  
Felicity greeted her with a laugh and arms opened for a hug. “That’s great news! You deserve it.”  
  
Together they headed into Felicity’s office. “I know that you’re the reason I got the job, but I won’t embarrass you, I promise.”  
  
“Shut up!” Felicity playfully slapped her friend’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t have suggested you if I wasn’t sure that you’d do an amazing job. This is great. A new start.”  
  
“Yes, that’s what I need,” Kristina sat down with her friend. “I decided that I need to ignore men for now and focus on myself.”  
  
“That sounds like an advertisement for masturbation.” The words left Felicity’s lips before she could stop them.  
  
Kristina smirked before she turned thoughtful. “Good point, maybe I should get a new vibrator.”  
  
“That’s really great news—not the new vibrator, the new job. Finally, something good’s happening!”  
  
Kristina glanced toward the door and found it closed. “You still haven’t found out who’s responsible?”  
  
“No, we—”  
  
The door banged open, hitting the wall with a loud thud. It said a lot about the last weeks that Felicity’s first instinct was to hide from another attack (she really needed to intensify the self-defense classes with John). But it was only Tak, who now slammed the door shut.  
  
“Wh—”  
  
Felicity didn’t get any further as Yongtak stared at her with wild eyes.  
  
“We forgot somebody!”  
  
Felicity stared at him, not understanding. “What?”  
  
“We forgot somebody, somebody else was there when we set up the server. The least likely person, the last person anybody’d ever suspect!”  
  
The third “what” within ten seconds danced on the tip of Felicity’s tongue, but the question fell from her mind as the answer became clear. Filled suddenly with tension, she jumped from the seat. Urgently, she asked, “And?”  
  
“I checked.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“A whooping five hundred thousand dollars originated from the Caymans on a well-hidden account in Luxembourg.”  
  
Strangely, this sentence chased all the insecurities, worries, and fears away. The definite knowledge was better than guessing. Calm captured her.  
  
“At least we were worth a nice sum,” Felicity said. Now it was time to plan her next steps.


	28. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like the biggest idiot in the history of idiocy, because I honestly never expected such a reaction to the previous chapter. When I told you I expected words I was referring to the whole Laurel/Tommy thing, because I thought maybe some of you expected more out of it. But I’m perfectly happy with being wrong about that. ;) So, yeah, I didn’t really consider the cliffhanger to be that big of a deal—and we’re right back with me being an idiot. I’m sorry. But I saw that most of you figured it out already. Even though, your speculations were amazing. I mean, you guys really trust _nobody_! Even Valentina and Kristina were name-dropped—and Diggle. Diggle! Seriously, people! I would _never_! ;)
> 
> So, let me thank you for being so patient, for wishing me a god vacation [it was really great, thank you!] and for just being overall awesome. 
> 
> As always the biggest transatlantic cyberhug of awesome for **Albiona**. Thank you! ♥
> 
> Okay, I hope to make up for the cliffhanger with this chapter. I think it does have to potential to do so and I hope you agree. Love, Jules

**February 14 th, 2013  
  
**Thank God for John Diggle.  
  
He had been the first to call and remind him. His wake-up call at six this morning was the reason he could tell the other callers – aka Thea, Kristina, and Jerry – that he didn’t need to be reminded. Annoyance and thankfulness were battling inside Oliver. Even though it was nice of his family, friends, and... acquaintances to make sure he knew what day it was, it was kind of aggravating that so many people thought he’d forget what day it was—and were right about it.  
  
The phone call – okay, phone _calls_ – had surprised him and left him a little helpless. For five years the days had blended into each other; dates hadn’t mattered. The fourth of July, Christmas, birthdays had been indistinguishable from any other day as each one had been filled with the never-ending struggle to survive.  
  
Torture doesn’t hurt less just because it happens on Valentine’s Day.  
  
Working methodically, Oliver moved the metal over the grinder. Ollie Queen had never been especially crafty, but Oliver Queen knew how to make arrow-heads in his sleep. It was an automatism to follow, a well-practiced routine that allowed his thoughts to wander. It was something that kept his hands busy while his mind worked.  
  
The sound of metal meeting the rotating tool filled the Foundry. It was a steady buzzing that wasn’t loud enough to disturb the workers busy above him under the watchful eyes of Tommy Merlyn. As much as Oliver knew the value of having help with his mission, of having partners to confide in and who had his back, Oliver enjoyed his moments of solitude.  
  
Diggle had the morning off, looking at apartments with Carly. Diggle told Oliver and Felicity that last night when they had picked Felicity up from the police station after she had given her statement. It prompted a Felicity-rant that had started with approval that Diggle finally dared to be with Carly, moved to the question if moving in with Carly wasn’t a bit fast, and ended with the realization that she, of all people, had no right to judge the speed any relationship moved in.  
  
Diggle answered that he had no intention of moving in with Carly, because nothing good could come from rushing things.  
  
A smile played around Oliver’s lips as he remembered Felicity’s reaction to this: her lengthy comment revolving around the claim that she would _not_ comment on it.  
  
Oliver found her rants charming; they had always charmed him—even on that fateful night in Las Vegas. It had been her big mouth that had caused them to cross paths to begin with: Tommy and he had just left the Bellagio after a few hours of unsuccessful gambling (losing $ 500,000 hadn’t rattled him in the slightest back then) to hit the Vegas party scene. He remembered walking out of the casino as if he owned it when a cab stopped on the sidewalk. Without thinking, he had tried to get in, because he was Ollie Queen and he didn’t do standing on the sidewalk, when an accusatory female “Hey!” had stopped him. What followed had been his first contact with rambling Felicity, back when she had still been Felicity.... He couldn’t remember her maiden name, even though he was pretty sure that it started with an S.  
  
For the life of him he couldn’t recall what she had said exactly back there on the sidewalk, but he knew that it had left him speechless for a second. He had the distinct memory of thinking _“what a dork”_ —a thought he wasn’t especially proud of. But then she had pursed her lips at him (with the knowledge he had gathered in the last months he was pretty sure that he had misinterpreted that gesture that hadn’t been directed at him but at herself for talking so much) and that had triggered very different thoughts, mostly revolving around getting her mouth to do things other than talking.  
  
Not the most romantic story to tell. Or the best thing to remember on a day that was supposed to be all romance.  
  
Ollie Queen had mastered Valentine’s Day: the flowers, the chocolate, the lines to get the girls to melt and put out.  
  
All of that was so far from his current mindset that he had felt truly overwhelmed this morning. It was a little embarrassing, really, but he didn’t know how to handle today. Falling into old habits was out of question—not where Felicity was concerned.  
  
This morning, after Diggle called, he had simply acted unfazed and followed the usual morning routine which always started with waking Felicity gently.  
  
But, of course, with everything that had happened yesterday, it couldn’t be a usual morning. Since she had asked Brad Foster to show up early to get her to Firestorm, Felicity skipped her morning jog. There was so much on her mind and, apparently, the date wasn’t one of the things she was occupied with.  
  
But Oliver Queen knew the date and its significance – or, rather, he had been made aware of it – and he knew he couldn’t let it slide. He was a little surprised to realize that he actually didn’t _want_ to let it slide.  
  
In the midst of everything that was happening right now, he wanted them to take an evening and just... be. Be happy, be normal, be a couple, be in love. He wanted them to simply be Felicity and Oliver. There wasn’t any need for flowers, chocolate, and especially not for fake lines.  
  
But he still felt the need for him to acknowledge this day and everything it stood for and to spend it with the person he loved passionately.  
  
Sure, he loved Thea and his mother, he cared for them, he would do anything to protect them. They were his family—the family he had been born into.  
  
Felicity was family by his choosing.  
  
He had chosen her.  
  
Not in Vegas, but here in Starling. On that sidewalk in front of the Bellagio he might have been drawn to her from her first babble (there had been something about polo shirts in there, he was sure of that), but he couldn’t make that any more meaningful than it had actually been back then. Felicity S. had been a challenge he had wanted to take. So he had done that and moved on. But he had returned to the challenge that was Felicity Queen. And she had snuck past his defenses on that first evening. Standing there in her main room, asking him if he wanted time to himself, she had cracked his shell.  
  
Falling in love with her had been a process—and by now he had fallen so deep that there was no way out.  
  
That should probably scare him. It would most definitely have scared Ollie Queen, but Oliver Queen didn’t want out. He was in this without an exit-strategy because the choosing had been mutual. Oliver didn’t doubt that. Felicity had chosen him with all his flaws and short-comings; she had chosen him with his fucking mission, for goodness sake! Life had thrown so many things at both of them, they both had their control and trust issues, their insecurities, their masks, but they also had each other. And it was about time that they celebrated that.  
  
He put the deadly sharp arrowhead down and turned the tool off. He needed to make a reservation.  
  
______________________________________  
  
  
Wearing a black suit he knew Felicity liked, he crossed the third floor of Firestorm he had seen too much of lately; Tak and Felicity’s uncover of the conspiracy had ended with arrests only the day before.  
  
The shock of yesterday’s revelations hadn’t worn off. The expressions on the faces around him told Oliver that clearly. It was already past six, but the office was still crowded. Even though the work day should be over, the reluctance to go home surrounded Firestorm’s employees as they talked quietly in small groups, sitting on desks or standing next to the impressive coffeemaker. A clear sign of their distraction was the fact that they barely acknowledged Oliver. A nod here and there, an absent-minded smile were the only greetings he received when normally everybody made sure to be extra polite to Mr. Queen, the husband of the boss.  
  
The boss was also deep in conversation. Her back was to him as she stood next to Jerry’s desk, telling her EA something he was nodding to. Oliver used the opportunity to check out his wife’s backside and couldn’t help but appreciate the beautiful view: her toned legs were sculptured even more by the stilettos she wore, her curves were hugged perfectly by the black and white dress. He noticed Jerry noticing him and in the next moment Oliver was gifted with the beautiful view that was Felicity’s smile.  
  
“Hi,” she greeted as he took the last steps to her. “I didn’t realize you were here. Which is weird. Normally the room goes quiet when you come in.” She frowned. “I always thought that the silence feels kind of fitting for a— Okay, I will spare you any kind of royal joke, because that’s just too easy.”  
  
He smiled at her, happy that she was more like herself than she had been in the last weeks. Ignoring everything else she had said, he said, “Hey.” He kissed her. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”  
  
“Oh.” Felicity’s mouth formed a perfect ‘O’, Oliver noticed and couldn’t take his eyes off her lips that suddenly looked like a sexy suggestion to him. He hadn’t shed all aspects of Ollie, it seemed. Enjoying the view full of possibilities he planned to turn into reality, he simultaneously was a little surprised to find that the musings accompanying him through-out this day had obviously put him in a mood.  
  
Felicity’s lips were moving again. “I didn’t know.” Her face twisted at her own words. “Okay, I _did_ know it’s Valentine’s Day since I entered the office. It’s hard to miss with all the work Tak put into decorating. He turned from anti-anti to obsessed; it’s classic, really. But, if you ask me, auditioning singing telegrams was a bit excessive—and really inappropriate considering everything that’s going on here. But I didn’t know you’d want to celebrate it. I mean: it’s _you_.”  
  
Oliver tipped his head and watched her closely. “I feel like I should take offense at that.”  
  
He could see her mentally scrambling to tell him in her very own way that she hadn’t meant to offend him and even though it was tempting he decided to spare her. “But I don’t.”  
  
Her open mouth turned into a smile. Her shoulders sank a little as tension left her body. Her eyes slid over him—and he gave his wife a moment to check him out. Her smile changed in a way that was very promising for Valentine’s Night. Their eyes met. “You’re wearing my favorite suit.”  
  
“I am.” The nod she sent him was appreciation and understanding mixed in the tiniest gesture that told him everything he needed to know. “I thought it was fitting attire for our first dinner date.”  
  
“Good thinking!” Her compliment full of agreement brought a smile to his face, but it only had the chance to ghost around his lips as Felicity cleared her throat. “But, you know, with everything that’s happe—”  
  
“Are you crazy? Go and have dinner with your husband on Valentine’s Day.”  
  
Oliver wasn’t exactly sure who had said that. All he knew was that he very much agreed with the voice coming from behind him. The look on his face told Felicity that clearly. He could also see that she wanted to agree. “Yes, Felicity,” Oliver urged, “do that and make him employee of the month.”  
  
She actually laughed at his comment while Oliver wondered again what had gotten into him today.  
  
“Okay.” Felicity addressed Oliver as much as everybody else in the room. She gifted him with another smile before turning to face her employees. “Firestorm’s work day is officially over. Everybody go celebrate Valentine’s Day. If you don’t have a girl- or boyfriend celebrate with each other, celebrate Firestorm. I’m buying.” People cheered. “Make the most out of it. The next weeks will be rough.”  
  
After another quick exchange with Jerry, Felicity got her purse and her coat from her office. Returning, she reached for Oliver’s offered elbow. “We just need to stop at home real quick so I can change.”  
  
He kissed her temple. “No, you don’t. You look beautiful. And we have a reservation at seven.”  
  
“A reservation?” Surprised, she looked at him. “Really? You planned this? I was so sure you wouldn’t care about Valentine’s Day and forget it.”  
  
He looked at her and spoke the absolute truth, “There was no way I could forget this. It was my first thought when I woke up.”  
  
  
  
**February 20 th, 2013**  
  
The evidence was overwhelming—and unexpected.  
  
Clearwater Solutions had hired a hacker legend from China to infiltrate and sabotage Firestorm, Inc. with the help of Firestorm’s very own CFO.  
  
Damian James had been arrested, as had Jeff Clearwater, CEO of a now-bankrupt software company. The shockwave the news had sent thought the city – mainly the business sector of the city – had been adequately huge, leaving stunned faces in its wake as well as a rising Firestorm stock. The same people who had predicted the demise of the Firestorm, Inc. only two weeks ago, claiming to have always known that the blonde social climber in charge never had a decent CEO in her, were now trying to get into Felicity Queen’s good graces.  
  
Oliver knew that Felicity deserved all the praise she was getting. She had mastered a difficult time and led her company through stormy waters, he was proud of everything she had accomplished and how she had handled the situation.  
  
That didn’t change the fact that he didn’t trust the calm after the storm.  
  
The evidence hadn’t been easy to gather. Oliver had sat next to Felicity and Yongtak and watched their fingers fly over their keyboards as they had tracked down the hacker trying to infiltrate their system. He had seen that it had been hard work, had been there when Tak had lost the hacker somehow, but Felicity couldn’t be shaken off. She had managed to identify him. It hadn’t been easy pickings and everything they had gathered had been hard earned and ultimately conclusive.  
  
Despite all that, there was a part in Oliver that didn’t trust the evidence.  
  
Jeff Clearwater – a man who was on The Hood’s list – was denying every single accusation. That was hardly surprising. But the fact that Oliver was inclined to believe him was. And Felicity was doubtful, too. She, like Oliver, had expected to uncover a link to Tempest or Queen Consolidated, to the bombing of the Gambit, to his mother who hadn’t done anything suspicious those weeks John Diggle had been her driver.  
  
There had never been any real evidence that the Firestorm-hacking and finding the wreck were connected, but Oliver had been convinced that they were. Felicity had been convinced that they were. It was hard to accept that they had been wrong, that there was no connection and absolutely no reason to hood up.  
  
Oliver knew that he should be relieved and happy, but he was neither. The bad feeling in the pit of his stomach wasn’t even quenched by seeing John Diggle next to the podium at the press conference that had had Felicity in knots this morning, now being broadcasted live by every local news channel.  
  
The camera zoomed in on Felicity... Queen. Oliver saw that instantly: the mask was perfectly in place.  
  
“I hate it when Felicity’s her official self,” Thea said. Oliver looked at his sister. She sat cross-legged to his left on the plush crème-colored couch, looking at the huge screen hanging on the wall of Queen Mansion’s living room. “Her face’s off. She much prettier than that.”  
  
Oliver agreed—inwardly. He loved the way Felicity’s cheeks colored slighted when she was caught in one of her rambles and unable to find a way out, the way she curved her brow when she was thinking really hard, the way one of her real smiles made her face light up and her eyes shine. But all those mannerisms were part of the real Felicity she now hid behind a façade of indifference and coolness. Oliver understood the necessity for that and he didn’t mind. Actually, he kind of liked that he was one of the few people who got to see the flush, the crinkled brow, and her real smiles.  
  
“That dress is killer,” Thea complimented. “Whoever designs or sells it will feel like kissing Felicity tomorrow, because girls will see this and want that dress. Hell, I want that dress. But I can’t pull off blue like Felicity does.”  
  
Oliver didn’t feel like discussing Felicity’s clothing – especially since he, personally, preferred her in red – and simply ignored his sister’s statement. “How’re things going at the CNRI?”  
  
“Oh,” Thea didn’t take her eyes off the TV. “Okay, I guess.”  
  
“Just okay? But you’re making calls for them from home?”  
  
Upon his arrival thirty minutes earlier, he had found his sister talking on the phone, pen and paper at the ready. It had been such an unexpected sight that he couldn’t keep from asking who she was talking to. She’d answered that this was related to her community service, which was certainly a positive surprise. Maybe, Thea had really learned a lesson.  
  
She glanced at him. “There was just something that bugged me and that I wanted to check. But doing stuff in private apparently won’t cut it. Laurel thinks that I need to improve my public image, too. Do some good will, charity stuff, for the judge.” She huffed. “Believe me, if I learned one thing it’s that I never want to become a lawyer. Worst. Job. Ever.”  
  
“Seriously?”  
  
“Yeah! I don’t want a job that requires nothing but a good memory and the ability to bend the truth to your will.”  
  
“Wow.” Oliver stared at his sister, surprised by her sarcastic but surprisingly insightful judgment.  
  
Thea simply shrugged, and the siblings focused their attention back on the TV and on Felicity, answering a question about the rumors that Firestorm was interested in hiring Major Badass – aka the Chinese hacker that Jeff Clearwater had allegedly hired by to hack Firestorm and who had programmed the virus requiring computer-loser Damian James to do nothing but plug in an USB drive. Oliver could have answered that question himself with a quick ‘no’, but Felicity was using more words, of course.  
  
“Major Badass. That’s majorly lame,” said Thea.  
  
Oliver nodded dimly. Giving himself an inward shove, he asked. “If lawyer’s out, what do you want to do after graduation?”  
  
The topic wasn’t welcome; the tensing of Thea’s face and back showed that clearly. Suddenly, his sister seemed uncomfortable. Oliver should have known that his first try to have a real conversation with his sister – a talk that went beyond birthday presents and clothes and involved no yelling – wouldn’t go smoothly.  
  
“I don’t know yet.” Thea’s voice seemed unusually small.  
  
Oliver tried to send her a compassionate smile. “You’ll figure it out.”  
  
Wordlessly, Thea nodded and Oliver couldn’t help but feel like his sister looked lost. “What are your plans for Friday night?” The words left his mouth before he could stop them—he was clearly spending too much time with Felicity.  
  
Surprise and suspicion alternated on his sister’s face. “I thought I’d hang with some people. Maybe go to Poison.... Why?”  
  
“The Starling City Cancer Society is holding an auction and we’re donating an item. I thought maybe you’d like to go.”  
  
“Let me guess,” Thea huffed. “Felicity’s busy and you need a plus one.”  
  
“Thea,” Oliver sighed. His sister’s passive-aggressiveness tested his mood instantly. Why did she always have to be so difficult? “I’d like you to go and spend time with me. With us. Felicity’ll be there, too. It’s public charity stuff, to help improve your image.”  
  
“Oh.” Guilt appeared on Thea’s face. “Okay, then. Sure. I’ll go with you.” Thea had the ability to make it sound as if she was doing him a favor. She smirked. “Do you think Felicity’ll lend me her earrings? They’d go perfectly with my golden dress.”  
  
With that they were back on topics safe for a conversation between Queen-siblings. Oliver sighed. “I’ll ask her.”  
  
  
  
**February 22 nd, 2013**  
  
In his attempt to show his sister that he was there for her and enjoyed spending time with her, he might have been a little... rash. Asking her to join him at an event he was only attending so he could catch a jewel thief who forces innocent people to steal for him by putting bomb collars around their necks wasn’t exactly the smartest thing to do. Reminding himself that it was supposed to be a scouting mission, that Diggle would be around and that Felicity could always distract Thea if Oliver needed to hood up, he fought to loosen the knot in the pit of his stomach.  
  
He failed. Trying to hide his unease, he reached for his glass, taking a sip of water, while scanning the room. Sadly, nobody and nothing suspicious caught his eye.  
  
Piano music was playing, setting the tone of understated sophistication that the Starling City Cancer Society deemed appropriate for their annual auction. Most guests sat at one of the round tables, talking, sipping their drinks, but more and more were getting up to see and be seen now that the dinner was over. Time for the rich and philanthropic of Starling City to check the items displayed for the bidding later tonight. Diggle was inconspicuously guarding the brooch donated by the Queen family. Since Oliver’s cellphone hadn’t buzzed in his jacket pocket, the ridiculously expensive thing was still where it was supposed to be. Waiting wasn’t Oliver’s biggest strength—much the opposite. Feeling the need to do something, he decided to check in with Diggle.  
  
He leaned in to Felicity to inform her about that when a man approached her from behind. “Mrs. Queen, it’s always a pleasure to meet you.”  
  
A patented Felicity Queen smile of adequate politeness appeared on her face. “Mr. Bates, how are you?”  
  
The pinstriped suit Mr. Bates wore was perfectly tailored. His skin was a little too tan, his teeth were a little too white, his hair was a little too black. The battle this man fought against aging was obvious and a little pathetic. But nothing was as bad as the way he looked at Oliver’s wife. The man, who wished he were thirty but had definitely passed sixty, used the fact that Felicity was sitting to his advantage and stared down her plunging neckline.  
  
Apprehension had filled Oliver since he had left their apartment. The reason he was here and the circumstances of it had kept him alert and on edge all evening. Both fled from his mind as the tension inside him shifted into utter contempt and disgust. Bates…. The name sounded familiar to Oliver. If his first name was Hannibal he was on his list and would be faced with The Hood very soon.  
  
Oblivious to the thoughts running through Oliver’s head, Bates managed to rip his eyes away from Felicity’s breasts and place them at little higher. “Thank you, dear,” he said, using a nice-uncle voice and a term of endearment that made Oliver’s skin scrawl. “I’m well. And very relieved to hear the news about Firestorm. My broker urged me to sell my stock three weeks ago, but I said ‘no.’ I told him: this remarkable young woman will turn things around.”  
  
Admiration and revulsion were battling inside Oliver when he saw that Felicity managed to keep the smile in place. “Thank you. I appreciate your trust.” She gestured to Oliver. “Mr. Bates, I don’t think you’ve met my husband. Oliver Queen.” Her eyes caught Oliver’s. “Mr. Bates practically owns half the real estate in Starling City.”  
  
The introduction startled Mr. Bates. The old fart had obviously only noticed Felicity’s assets, but not the man sitting next to her, the man she was married to. But the mogul got over his shock quickly. “That’s a little exaggerated. I own one third, at most.” He laughed at his own quip and offered his hand to Oliver. “Hannibal Bates. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Queen.”  
  
Calling Oliver’s grip firm would have been an understatement. Squeezing tightly, he also got up from his seat to force the old man to look up at him. “Oh, the pleasure is all mine.” That sleazebag had just moved himself right to the top of The Hood’s list.  
  
Freeing his hand from Oliver’s tight grip, Bates sent the couple a quick, slightly pained smile. “I was on my way to study the display items. I should do that before the bidding starts. Have a nice evening.” Stealing one last inappropriate glance at Felicity’s cleavage, Mr. Bates practically fled from the table before another word could be exchanged.  
  
Oliver stared after him until he felt Felicity’s hand on his arm, causing him to sit down again. Leaning in to him, she whispered into his ear. “Relax. If your shoulders flex any more you might pop a seam.”  
  
Relaxation was the farthest thing from Oliver’s mind. “That asshole just ogled you.”  
  
“Oh,” she mocked, “really? I didn’t notice.” Oliver sent her a pointed glance that she answered with a smile. “You did the same thing when you saw me in this dress earlier.”  
  
She was teasing him, he knew, but he wasn’t in the mood. Especially since that wasn’t a valid argument at all. He was allowed to admire the view she presented in her red dress. In fact, he wasn’t only allowed, it was practically his duty to appreciate his wife’s beauty – you could go as far as saying that he was contractually obliged to do so – and even he didn’t stare down her neckline in public.  
  
Seeing the look on his face, Felicity sighed. “It’s either that or depreciatory comments about my business skills, mostly based on my gender or my hair color or both.” She added a shrug. “I haven’t managed to decide which is worse.”  
  
Those indeed weren’t very good options. Neither did anything to ease Oliver’s flexing muscles. Felicity probably felt that as her hand slightly tightened on his arm. “Starling City’s one percent’s mostly an old men’s club. I’m used to it. So relax, okay?” She leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Focus on the important thing—your family jewels.” She blinked. “I mean the jewels donated by your family.”  
  
He stared at her for a few heartbeats before he decided to follow her suggestion and focus on why they were really here. “Is the tracker working?” he asked. She’d somehow managed to hide a GPS- tracker on the brooch.  
  
She reached for her purse and took her cell phone out. She nodded. “Perfect signal.” She placed her attention back on him. “You check in with John like I know you’re itching to do. I’ll make the rounds and see if I find Thea. She disappeared right after dinner. That’s suspicious behavior. I know. In the last months I’ve become an expert on suspicious behavior.” She pushed her chair back, signaling to him that this conversation was over.  
  
He watched her walk toward the first person to small-talk with. Oliver really hoped that The Dodger would make a move on this damn brooch, because Oliver was in the mood to hit somebody with more force than necessary.  
  
For good measure, he used more force than was necessary to shove back his own chair. Irritated glances landed on him instantly. It didn’t take much to break the delicate rules of high-profile gatherings, Oliver knew, but didn’t really care. This whole evening was testing his calm, clawing at his nerves for reasons he couldn’t clearly name.  
  
Avoiding direct eye-contact to keep people from addressing him, he headed across the room and up a few stairs. The donated items were displayed in an adjoining room. Diggle had taken a position across from it. Again, Oliver approved of his partner’s strategizing: he had a perfect view on the brooch without being too obvious or close.  
  
With long strides Oliver headed to him. “Anything?”  
  
Diggle greeted him with a frown. “What’s up with you? Was the food bad?”  
  
Ignoring the questions, because he had been the first to ask one, Oliver glared at the other man. “Anybody suspicious yet?”  
  
“No, nobody.” Diggle motioned down the hall. “The police’re here. At least your bait attracted them.”  
  
Looking in that direction, Oliver saw Detective Lance and his partner trying to mingle with the crowd—and failing. Both men looked uncomfortable and uneasy in the midst of people who only sent them disparaging glances. The scene did nothing to improve Oliver’s mood. He might not have the best relationship with Quentin Lance, but he respected him. Lance was a good man, honest, trying to keep this city safe. No matter what personal issues stood between them, Oliver knew that the other man didn’t deserve to be treated like that just because his yearly income was significantly lower than that of everybody around him. Just like Felicity didn’t deserve to be treated like a piece of meat, simply because she didn’t fit in with the old wealthy men that ran this city.  
  
The amount of unhealthy passion with which Oliver despised Starling’s one percenters had never felt more justified.  
  
“Maybe I should check out front and see if the guards have had any problems,” Diggle suggested, ripping Oliver out of his dark thoughts.  
  
“Yes,” he agreed. “I’ll stay here, keep an eye on things.”  
  
Diggle patted the other man’s shoulder. “Good idea, you take a moment.”  
  
In an effort to center himself, Oliver forced air deep into his lungs, held it there and exhaled again carefully. Focusing on the mission at hand was the most important thing right now. He let his eyes travel toward the brooch still resting on blue velvet and displayed in the middle of the room behind perfectly polished glass. People were walking past it, some taking a closer look, commenting on it, but nobody paid it more attention than anybody else. The auction was scheduled to take place in ninety minutes— The Dodger has to make his move by then or Oliver has spent two million dollars of his family’s money in vain.  
  
Casually, he let his eyes wander across the room, over Detective Lance – whose facial expression was turning sourer by the minute – only to land on Thea. Wearing a golden dress that was a little too short in her big brother’s opinion, she leaned against the bar in the auction room, only visible to him as people moved. The waiter placed a glass filled with table water in front of her, serving it accompanied with a smile and a wink. The latter spurred Oliver into movement. His mission forgotten, he walked quickly to Thea. “Hey,” he greeted, startling her. “Are you enjoying yourself?”  
  
“Not really.” Thea took a sip of her water and turned to lean her back against the bar. “But at least I’m publicly charitable. That’s something.” She took another sip. “And I’m having a better time than Felicity.” She gave a little jerk with her head.  
  
Oliver positioned himself next to Thea, his eyes following the direction her chin had given him. Felicity was conversing with an older couple, the fake smile perfectly in place.  
  
“Seems like she’s back to being everybody’s darling,” Thea sounded nearly disgusted. “People are the _worst_.”  
  
Oliver couldn’t stop himself from inwardly agreeing. “Who are they?” He asked, watching as the woman placed a hand on Felicity’s arm.  
  
“Dunno.” Thea shrugged. “I only know a hand full of people here and that’s perfectly fine with me.”  
  
Oliver watched Felicity give the couple one last polite smile. She started walking toward him but was stopped dead when a tall man about Oliver’s age stepped into her path.  
  
Next to him, Thea nearly choked on her water.  
  
Her coughing brought Oliver’s sole attention on his sister. “Are you okay?”  
  
“Yeah,” she cleared her throat. “It’s just, he’s one of the people I know. I know him.”  
  
“Him?” Oliver frowned.  
  
“Him, the guy talking to Felicity. That’s Ray Palmer.”  
  
A second passed until things clicked and the name hit home. Oliver’s feet were carrying him across the room before he really noticed what he was doing.  
  
“Okay, you go be all macho. I’ll just check what’s for sale.”  
  
Barely registering what Thea called after him, he passed through the tables to where Felicity was trying to step around the man she had once been engaged to. He was tall, Oliver observed, taller than him. All Oliver could see was his back, black hair, and broad shoulders covered by an impeccable suit. As Oliver came closer he could make out their conversation.  
  
“It’s a business proposal,” Palmer said and held his hands up in a calming manner. “I know the word ‘proposal’ coming from me is a red flag, but, please, hear me out.”  
  
A certain playful teasing in his voice gave him an attitude of cocky care-freeness that made Oliver want to punch him. Slowing his steps down a little to hide that he had pathetically rushed over, Oliver came to a halt next to Felicity. “Hey, sorry,” Oliver cut in their conversation. Placing his left hand on her lower back, he kissed Felicity’s cheek while he dug his brain for some lie fitting to insert right here. “The senator kept me.” His left settled on Felicity’s hip, keeping her close to his body while offering his right to the other man. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Oliver Queen.”  
  
Without hesitation, sparing himself any useless words of fake politeness, Palmer shook his hand. “Ray Palmer.”  
  
He _was_ taller than him, Oliver realized. Women probably considered him good-looking with that jaw and that easy smile he flashed at the couple opposite him.  
  
“Talk about awkward situations,” Palmer said, playfully raising his eyebrows. “The husband and the ex-fiancé meeting while the latter tries to strike a business deal.”  
  
“I told you,” Felicity’s voice was more strained than Oliver would have liked, “my business is none of your business.” She could have left it at that, but Oliver knew that she wouldn’t. Nervousness overruled her brain in nine out of ten cases. “Plus, I don’t even know if our engagement was valid since Oliver was alive. We were married the whole time we were engaged. The first ‘we’ being Oliver and I and the second ‘we’ you and me. Does that make me a polygamist? That’s kind of offensive. I think I just managed to offend myself.”  
  
Oliver’s hand tightened around Felicity’s hip, trying to calm and steady her. Since his eyes never left Ray Palmer, he saw the smile playing around the corners of the other man’s mouth. He was charmed by Felicity’s ramble. Involuntarily, Oliver’s hand tightened even more, glaring at the guy opposite who awoke a very unfamiliar kind of protectiveness inside him. And it _was_ protectiveness. There was no way that it could be anything else.  
  
“Only you can take a suggested joint business venture and turn it into a polygamous offense.” Palmer smirked. “Please, look at this from a business point of view. Your software and my smart-wearables—it’s a match made in heaven.”  
  
“Only if there’s a street in heaven called _hell_.” Felicity straightened up. “How can you think I’d even consider this?”  
  
“Because it’s a win-win-scenario. I had this idea for quite some time, but at the auction you brushed me off too quickly and then your company tanked – nice turn around, btw – and I didn’t want it to seem like I took advantage of your desperation.”  
  
“I wasn’t desperate.”  
  
“Well, had I been in your shoes I would have been, but I could never walk two steps in those heels.” He smiled a winning smile.  
  
Oliver felt like he should intercept, like he should say something, but he didn’t know what. No words came to him that wouldn’t make this situation worse. There was nothing to say that wouldn’t give away that he felt strangely threatened by this man who Felicity had agreed to marry while completely sober. Saying ‘yes’ to Ray Palmer had been a conscious act, a well-thought-out commitment based on shared time and emotions and wanting to spend their future together. Ray Palmer had gone down on one knee, proposed, and given Felicity a ring.  
  
All Oliver had given Felicity that night in Vegas had been free shots, his undivided attention, and at least two orgasms.  
  
And a baby. A son. He had given her Jonas.  
  
The thought was as sudden as it was unexpected. It was also something Oliver couldn’t contemplate right now, the scope of emotion that came with Jonas was too intense to even acknowledge in a situation that left him uneasy enough as it was.  
  
Because even Jonas didn’t change the fact that Felicity’s decision to marry Oliver had never been deliberate. Her ‘I do’ in that cheap chapel had been founded on an emotional overload caused by grief and the need to let her sorrows and her thoughtful self behind. Oliver knew all of this by now. For Oliver, marriage had been a version of seduction but for Felicity it had been an act of rebellion against herself. Neither of them had thought about commitment, about a shared future, about anything more than the here and now. There had been no ring, no bent knee, no real proposal. There had only been Tommy Merlyn’s drunken logic (“It’s not a one night stand if you’re married. That’s a wedding night. That’s a whole different ballgame. Ollie, you should make her your queen and show her a good time. Marry that girl!”) and Ollie’s complete agreement (“Yeah, girl, marry me!”).  
  
Unexpectedly being confronted with the man he had purposely avoided giving any thought to left Oliver feeling strangely inferior—which was an unfamiliar and unwelcome sensation, accompanied by awkward helplessness. And Oliver had enough self-awareness to know that he mostly compensated helplessness with aggression. Lashing out at Palmer would help neither this situation nor Felicity, who Oliver knew could stand her own ground. Even though Oliver wished he could help her with a good comment, he knew that saying nothing and trusting Felicity to deal with this as she saw fit would probably sent an even bigger message. After all, she had asked him to stand next to her looking good in a suit once. He could do that.  
  
“I didn’t know you were into cross-dressing.” Felicity shot back now—which was a sentence that would have never crossed Oliver mind. She glared at Palmer, her blue eyes shooting proverbial arrows at him. “But there were a lot of things I didn’t know about you.”  
  
“Please don’t let our past get in the way with a great business deal.”  
  
“Not everything’s about business,” Felicity shot back. She wasn’t yelling, not even raising her voice to keep from making a scene, but she was talking harshly. “But I forgot who I’m talking to. To you everything’s a business deal—even proposing to me.”  
  
The cockiness left Palmer as he heard that. “Felicity,” he sighed, “I’ve told you countless times; I didn’t propose to get your company.”  
  
“No,” Felicity crossed her arms, shielding herself from him, “you wanted my shares of Queen Consolidated—plus half of my company. You were entitled to _neither_.”  
  
Oliver looked at Palmer and saw a shadow of something cross the other man’s face. Was it guilt? Was it regret? Anger? Oliver honestly didn’t have the slightest idea.  
  
“I can’t have the same discussion with you over and over again.” The CEO of Palmer Technologies shook his head. “You need to get over it.”  
  
Oliver felt like knocking that brazen asshole out. One precise hit would achieve that, Oliver knew. Palmer might be taller than him and well-built, but that guy, of course, didn’t stand a chance against him. The man opposite him didn’t look like he could hold his own in a fight. He looked like a self-righteous prick who had tried to make his fiancée sign a prenup riddled with judicial intricacies.  
  
As far as Felicity had told Oliver, the ultimate reasons she’d ended the engagement had been two footnotes Moira Queen’s lawyers had found. Combined, they would have forced Felicity to sign over fifty-one percent of the company she had founded and built from the ground up, plus all her shares of QC, and given Palmer access to the supervisory board.  
  
Oliver had been surprised to hear that Felicity owned seven percent of Queen Consolidated. But, apparently, the value of the family business had plummeted after Robert Queen had been lost at sea. Moira had been forced to release some of her shares and Walter’s solution had been to buy them in Felicity’s name to make sure the Queen family kept the majority. The ownership of those shares was in name only, Felicity Queen was a silent board member, but that didn’t change the fact that they were legally her shares, her part of a multi-billion dollar company that Ray Palmer would have gotten in case of divorce, regardless of who initiated those proceedings.  
  
Holding a grudge wasn’t like Oliver. Too many people were bearing a grudge against him for Oliver to do the same. He had made too many mistakes and wronged too many people, Oliver knew. But never would he tell any of them to let it go, to _get over_ it. It wasn’t his place to tell other people how to feel—about him or the things he did. It wasn’t his place to tell others they had been angry long enough. He was willing to deal with their anger for as long as they needed it. And Oliver felt like Felicity had every right to be angry a little longer at the man who had used her feelings for him to strike a business deal. Felicity was convinced that Ray Palmer’s proposal – which had happened six months into dating – had come with the intention of divorce. That had to hurt.  
  
Strangely, that thought suddenly shed a better light on the Vegas-wedding. At least Oliver and Felicity had been honest about what their marriage was and wasn’t right from the start.  
  
This honesty was still the key to everything, the foundation of what connected Felicity and him, what had made it possible for them to start over after his return. They had been granted a reboot, a second chance that they used to the fullest. Everything that had been lacking before was there now: love, trust, and commitment. And suddenly Oliver wondered why he had been so stupid to feel inferior to Ray Palmer. That man had messed up his chance. He had chosen money over love—and Oliver Queen might have many flaws, but that had never been one of them.  
  
Oliver’s glare turned more self-assured and he gave up his possessive hold on Felicity. Bringing a little bit more space between them, his hand left Felicity’s hip. He got ready to finally enter this conversation, but Felicity spoke up before he could. “Oh, don’t worry, Ray. I’m over it.” She gave up her defensive stance, let her hands fall to her sides. “I’m over you.” Felicity placed her hand in Oliver’s without taking her eyes off her ex. “But that doesn’t mean that I trust you. You betrayed me and I’m not stupid enough to give you a chance to do it again.”  
  
Palmer sent Oliver a quick glance before he focused back on Felicity. “I told you: you blew that prenup way out of proportion.”  
  
Felicity stared at him until she finally shrugged. “If I did that’s another sign that we were never meant to be.”  
  
“But this,” he gestured between Oliver and Felicity, his voice doubtful, “this is meant to be?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Oliver enjoyed the fact that this one word was enough for Felicity.  
  
Palmer nodded slowly. “So. No joint venture, then?”  
  
Again Felicity needed only one word. “No.”  
  
Oliver took that as his cue. He sent the idiot with the name Ray Palmer a curt nod – just to show him that he was entirely unfazed by him and his existence – and walked away with Felicity, leaving Ray Palmer to stare behind them.  
  
“I mean that, you know?” Felicity said quietly when they had brought some space between themselves and Palmer. “I honestly don’t care about Ray anymore.”  
  
Leading Felicity up the few stairs to the hall, Oliver nodded. “I know.”  
  
“Do you? Because you were really intense in there, with the death-grip and the heavy breathing. For a second I was afraid you’d snap into _that_...” the way she stressed the word, accompanying it with a very pointed glance, made it clear that she meant ‘the hood’, “mode and punch him. I feel like I should be more opposed to that than I really am.”  
  
“We can check him, see if there’s a reason for me to visit him in _that_ mode.”  
  
“No,” Felicity hurried to say. “That won’t be necessary.”  
  
In the hall Oliver stopped at Diggle’s perfect strategic position. “It would be my pleasure.”  
  
Felicity rolled her eyes. “Of course, it would be.”  
  
Oliver reached for her left hand. Cradling it in both of his, he felt the ring he had placed there. “I just realized that Palmer did that whole proposal-thi—”  
  
He stopped in the middle of his confession, distracted by Thea stumbling toward them. The expression on her face spurred him into action: her eyes were huge and filled with fear. Letting go of Felicity’s hand, Oliver headed toward her. “Thea, wh—”  
  
Again he didn’t get to finish a sentence. “I think I have a problem,” Thea stated and brought her hand to her neck.  
  
The motion directed Oliver’s attention from her fearful face to her throat, but he needed a few heartbeats to realize what he was seeing. Understanding froze the blood in his veins. There, around the slender neck of his baby sister, was a metal device blinking at him in angry red. A bomb collar.  
  
“He said if I contacted the police he’d blow my head off.” Thea stared up at her brother. “He said I shouldn’t tell anybody. That probably includes you. Oh, God, I’m gonna get decapitated, aren’t I?”  
  
“Not gonna happen!” Oliver caught Thea’s eyes filled with panic, willing her to see how serious he was about that. He heard Felicity call Diggle’s first name behind him—and only then did he realize that the soldier hadn’t been back yet from his talk with the security guard.  
  
Reaching for his sister’s arm he led her down the hall, away from the gala, and into the first empty room he could find. Once inside, Thea ripped herself free. “You should get out. What if this thing blows?”  
  
“I told you,” Oliver repeated. “That won’t happen.”  
  
“Let me have a look,” Diggle motioned to tables lined up by the wall, telling her silently to sit down.  
  
But Thea didn’t follow the order, she just stood there, her eyes snapping from her brother to his bodyguard and back.  
  
“Thea,” Felicity stepped forward. “John was a soldier. In Afghanistan.” Reaching for the girl’s hand, she led her to the table. “Please, let him have a look.”  
  
Diggle managed to send Thea an encouraging smile despite the tension that was claiming him, just like everybody in the room. He stepped closer, eyes fixed on the collar. “Do any of you ladies have a hairpin?”  
  
“No.” Thea shook her head, her loose brunette curls flowing around her face.  
  
“Here,” Felicity took one of her earrings out and handed it over.  
  
Oliver moved to stand next to Diggle and grabbed Thea’s hand. “I need you to breathe.” He could see his sister giving in to panic, but he couldn’t have that. He inhaled deeply, prompting her to follow his example. “Good. All you need to do is stay calm. We’ll get you out of this mess.” He sent Diggle a sideways glance. The expression on the other man’s face wasn’t encouraging. Apparently, this wouldn’t be easy to defuse.  
  
Appearing on Oliver’s other side, Felicity raised her cellphone slightly. “I have a clear signal. Go.”  
  
Thea’s eyes jerked from one person to the other. Oliver could practically see the questions on the young woman’s face, but he kept her from asking them when he caught her eyes with an intense stare. “I’ll get help. You just stay here and breathe.”  
  
“I’ll stay with you,” Felicity promised, taking Thea’s hand out of Oliver’s. He wanted to objected, the idea of losing his wife and his sister in the same explosion was too horrible to even contemplate, but he didn’t have time for a discussion he knew he couldn’t win. Felicity staying with his sister, the fact that she was willing to put herself in danger, was one of the many reasons why he loved her so much. He leaned forward to place a quick kiss on Thea’s forehead, needing the contact, willing her to know that he wasn’t abandoning her. His eyes met Felicity’s and he took a second to send her a gaze flamed with intensity and with everything he didn’t have the time to voice: that he wished she didn’t have to stay with that bomb, that he was grateful that she chose to stay with his sister and the bomb anyway, that he loved her and that he would fix this. After sending both Diggle and Thea one last glance and receiving another “Go” from the soldier, Oliver raced out of the room.  
  
______________________________________  
  
  
Breathing shouldn’t be a challenge, Felicity thought. It was a reflex that was kind of basic if you liked living. Thea obviously was very pro-living, but, still, she was struggling to follow Oliver’s order. Every breath was forced as she sat on the table while John studied the blinking collar around her neck. Thea’s eyes were glued to the door where Oliver disappeared and she had started to shake. Her fearful eyes were filling with tears, her lower lip trembling.  
  
Felicity didn’t even want to start thinking about what this must look and feel like to Thea: Oliver leaving her like this when Felicity had made that big speech about her brother communicating in gestures.  
  
Knowing that she had to step up and seeing that John was only staring at the device around Thea’s neck helplessly, Felicity let go of Thea’s hand to reach for her purse and get her earpiece and tablet out. Pressing a few buttons she opened the tracer program and the backdoor to access Starling City’s traffic cameras. It only took a few swipes and commands, but she already heard Oliver’s voice coming out of the earpiece. “Talk to me, Felicity.”  
  
No, she wouldn’t. She needed to talk to Thea. Taking the device out of her ear, she extended the tablet to John. “Here, you direct him.” Giving up the pretense that he might be able to do anything with the bomb, John grabbed the offered technical devises and moved a few steps away.  
  
Thea’s eyes were huge as she followed the exchange between her sister-in-law and the bodyguard. Felicity stepped directly in front of her.  
  
“Heading towards Adams and O’Neil,” John said. “Judging by how fast he’s going, he must be in a vehicle.”  
  
Felicity reached for Thea’s hand. Ignoring John’s voice coming from behind her, she sent Thea a smile. “Tell me about your community service.”  
  
Thea, who had been staring past Felicity at John, startled. She blinked. “What?”  
  
“You started your time with the CNRI. How’s that going?”  
  
“You want me to tell you about that _now_?”  
  
“We might not have the time to discuss that later.” Instantly, Felicity flinched. “I’m sorry,” she added in a rush. “That wasn’t the best thing to say, I know. Sorry. But I’m trying to distract you from a nervous breakdown while trying to avoid freaking out myself, so let’s just... talk.” Felicity tightened her grip, squeezing Thea’s left hand in silent comfort. “Your community service,” Felicity repeated, “tell me about that.”  
  
A few seconds passed before Thea was able to follow the almost-order. Fear was visible in her eyes and her shaky voice betrayed it when she finally said, “Laurel calls it an internship. Not community service.”  
  
“Oh? Sorry. How’s your internship?”  
  
“It sucks.” Thea swallowed heavily, causing the collar to move. Her hand flew to the blinking device, touching it as if checking that it was still there. The collected tears were close to spilling.  
  
“Okay, so the internship sucks.” Felicity could hear how frantic she sounded and forced herself to calm down. She needed to keep it together. “But Oliver said that it scratched lawyer off a potential-job list. That’s something.”  
  
“As if that mattered....”  
  
“Why shouldn’t it matter?” The question had little purpose apart from keeping the conversation going, but it had an effect on Thea. Felicity saw the expression on the girl’s face shift. The utter panic simmering below the surface and on the brink of breaking through was replaced by dread. It was the barest change, but it was something—at the very least it was the distraction Felicity was searching for. “Thea?”  
  
The youngest Queen bit her lower lip, fighting an inner battle only disturbed by John giving directions to Oliver. “If you cut through Harris Plaza, you’ll end up right behind him.”  
  
Felicity had complete faith in Oliver. There wasn’t a hint of a doubt inside her that Oliver would get to The Dodger in time and keep the bomb the maniac had strapped around Thea’s neck from detonating. This conviction made it possible for her to say the next sentence. “We’re about to be blown up anyway, might as well tell me.”  
  
A smile softened her words, but Thea’s face was void of any amusement—instead, the first tear slipped out of the younger girl’s eyes, running down her cheek. And once the first had fallen, more followed.  
  
“Thea,” Felicity said softly. Inwardly, she cursed herself for letting the stupid statement slip. Of course, Thea wouldn’t take it lightly. It was a tasteless thing to say—and it was the proof that Thea didn’t share Felicity’s unwavering belief in Oliver. How could she? That girl had no idea. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”  
  
“I’m flunking,” Thea pressed the words out.  
  
Felicity, who had been about to hug the younger girl in an effort to comfort her, froze, thrown by the sudden change of topics. “What?”  
  
“I’m flunking out of school,” Thea repeated. “I’ve missed too many days and my grades are.... I suck.”  
  
“They won’t let you graduate?”  
  
“No.” Thea shook her head, crying and shaking in desperation that wasn’t only caused by the current situation. “And Principle Mathers said that the gymnasium was still up to date.”  
  
“What does that mean?”  
  
“That mom can’t fix it with a gracious donation.”  
  
“That’s good, Thea. I mean, okay, it doesn’t seem like that to you now, but you don’t need to buy yourself a high school diploma. I know it sucks, but you can just try nex—”  
  
“No, seriously, I think it’s been established that I’m too stupid for high school.”  
  
“You’re not stupid enough to actually believe that.” Felicity was shocked by what she was hearing.  
  
“Maybe, Ollie’ll hire me as a waitress for his club,” Thea said. “Or maybe I’ll just get me a nice trailer—like, something in the Glades like Roy’s.”  
  
There were so many questionable things in that statement that Felicity didn’t know where to begin. Strangely, she felt like going for the gossipy angle. “Who’s Roy?”  
  
“He robbed me.”  
  
“He robbed you?”  
  
“He’s kinda cute.”  
  
“Does being cute trump being a robber?”  
  
“He’s always wearing this red hoodie. Kind of Abercrombie-looking.”  
  
“The hoodie?”  
  
“The _guy_!”  
  
Felicity wasn’t exactly sure when she had lost control over the conversation, but that didn’t change the fact that it had happened. She frowned. “What do you mean: he’s always wearing a red hoodie? How often did he rob you?”  
  
“Just once, but he stole my vintage Chanel purse and I had to get that back. So, I kinda found him, but then I dropped charges, because he made up some sob-story for Detective Lance, but when I went down to the Glades to confront him yesterday, he gave me back my purse.”  
  
Felicity couldn’t believe her ears. “Okay,” she stated in her best no-nonsense tone. “One, if you put as much effort in homework as you put in getting back your purse, you’d be top of the class. Two, what do you mean you went down to the Glades to confront him? That’s stupid—and dangerous, especially if Oliver finds out about that. Three, seriously, Oliver shouldn’t find out about the whole robbing-thing. Four, Abercrombie-looking does sound kind of cute.”  
  
“He’s so dreamy. But he’s a jerk. Go figure.”  
  
Suddenly the constant red blinking stopped and was replaced by a steady green light. The clasp of the opened and the silver thing dangled loosely around Thea’s neck. Felicity hadn’t only managed to distract Thea from the eminent danger of being down up, but herself as well. Relief rushed through her. It was reflected in the “Oh, thank God!” that left her lips. Quickly, she reached for the collar and tore it from Thea’s neck only to pull the younger girl into a hug. Thea was shaking and crying in her arms while Felicity rubbed comforting circles on her back. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “It’s over. The bomb-thing, I mean, not the school-thing. But we’ll figure that one out, too.”


	29. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Girls, I know I keep saying the same thing over and over, but I really mean it: I am very, very grateful for all of your support, your feedback, and your love for this story. Thank you! You’re everything.
> 
>  **Albiona** : only you could see the big difference switching red with white makes. You’re a genius [which is why I trust your prediction on the “fantastic fun”]. Thank you!
> 
> I don’t feel like saying much this time, because I think we should simply get on this with story and move this plot a little. Please know that I expect words from you after this chapter, serious words. I am ready. Bring it on. Love, Jules

**February 26 th, 2013**  
  
It was official: Felicity’s genius was finite.  
  
Felicity Queen had graduated top of her class. She could code and hack basically everything, she was literate, understood politics and financial necessities; she grasped the basics of stock exchange, and she could hold her own in the shark infested waters that was the business world of Starling City. She had mastered all that.  
  
But she failed at cooking.  
  
A disappointed form of desperation filled Felicity as she looked at the casserole dish that was supposed to be filled with lasagna. Kristina had given her the recipe that was supposed to be ‘fool-proved’—proof that Felicity was too foolish for fool-proof cooking. The cheese on top was black (she might have lost track of time when she had snuggled onto her couch with a book for the first time in weeks), the layer of pasta beneath that was more crispy that it should be. Felicity could read blueprints of every electronic device known to modern (and ancient) man. But she couldn’t read a cookbook. Now that she scanned the typed instructions Tina had sent her via email, Felicity’s eyes lingered on the line that started with the note ‘important’ (all-caps and underlined) and continued with the instruction to make sure that the last layer of the lasagna was sauce.  
  
Apparently, Felicity also failed at reading.  
  
Making a casserole had been a very deliberate decision—by Kristina. Her best friend had claimed that putting a dish into the oven would avoid Felicity’s main cooking-problem: frying. It was the reason why Felicity was good with steak—that was supposed to be bloody. Chicken, apparently, wasn’t. She had managed to give Tina light food poisoning that way once.  
  
Sadly, Kristina’s plan hadn’t been entirely thought through: the ruined pot Felicity had used to make the sauce was proof of that.  
  
Why hadn’t she just gone with steak again? That had worked perfectly last time. Whatever demon had possessed Felicity to try and improve her cooking-skills had been thoroughly exorcised. All ambition had burnt along with the lasagna.  
  
The plan had been to surprise Oliver with his favorite food. Other than that Russian dish that Felicity hadn’t even dared to try, he loved Italian. Serving a difficult conversation with comfort food was a route Felicity habitually went—and since she especially dreaded this conversation, she had wanted especially fine food.  
  
Talk about an epic fail.  
  
Apparently, failure smelled like burnt cheese.  
  
Ironically, an apartment smelling like epic fail was a very fitting atmosphere to talk about all the things that happened at the auction that hadn’t been mentioned in the previous five days. The list of topics wasn’t overly long, but uncomfortable: Thea, Moira, and Ray.  
  
It got more dreadful with each name.  
  
Felicity hadn’t dared to mention Ray since the awkward run-in at the auction. She had been awfully tense, she knew. Ray was a sore spot for her, because he had fooled her. He had been the first man since Oliver – but mainly since Jonas – she had let into her life. Ray had been carefree, easy-going, and so funny. He had also been tall, handsome, and the CEO of his own company.  
  
Back then, Kristina had agreed that he had been exactly what Felicity needed.  
  
They had just clicked and sped ahead and Ray’s proposal after six months of dating had fit them perfectly. That was when Kristina started uttering careful warnings—like pointing out the fact that they weren’t even living together yet. Felicity had chosen to ignore them. Until Ray had dumped the prenup in her lap. It had come with memories of negotiating a contract with Moira Queen’s lawyers. The familiarity of it had let Felicity acknowledge the uneasy feeling she had suppressed before.  
  
That night the trouble sleeping had started.  
  
The uneasiness was strong enough for her to contact Walter Steele and Moira Queen-Steele, who Felicity figured had a right to know that Felicity would finally be distancing herself from their family. That plan had gone out of the window right after the first consultation with the lawyers and the dreadful fight with Ray that had immediately followed. All Felicity’d needed was for Ray to give her one believable reason she why those footnotes were there. Just one, nothing more: one good reason. His failure ripped her heart apart while she ripped the engagement ring off her finger. It had been over right then and right there.  
  
Looking back, Felicity knew that Kristina had been right: Ray had been what Felicity needed at the time. The word ‘rebound’ didn’t fit entirely, but it held hints of the truth. Ray had also been another betrayal to harden Felicity Queen’s resolve. His actions had hurt, left her feeling vulnerable, but she had been honest when she’d told Oliver that she was over Ray.  
  
Ray was the past. Oliver was her future.  
  
Turns out Oliver Queen, who couldn’t be more different from Ray Palmer, was exactly what she needed, what she wanted. She needed to tell Oliver that again, because she knew the run-in with her ex-fiancée had shaken her husband. He’d been tense and helpless during the meeting. Feeling helpless often resulted in Oliver lashing out, and he had kept from doing that at the auction, instead falling quiet. Felicity had appreciated Oliver’s decision to go with silent support and let her handle Ray. But since that evening there was something on Oliver’s mind—and she needed him to tell her what that was. She wouldn’t let Oliver blow Ray out of proportion. Just like Felicity wouldn’t let herself turn Laurel Lance apparently having a crush on Oliver’s alter-ego into a big deal.  
  
What _was_ a big deal was the fact that Oliver still hadn’t confronted Moira about her copy of the list. He was pushing it back and Felicity was very close to putting her foot down. Very close but not entirely there yet. It would have to wait a little bit longer, because tonight she had to get all strict with Oliver regarding Thea.  
  
Moira finally started acting like a mother in a way that didn’t involve bribing the principal with a new gymnasium, but by talking with him to find a solution that was in Thea’s best interest. She was trying to comfort her daughter, being maternal in a way Felicity had rarely seen the Queen-matriarch act. It came just in time. Thea needed maternal right now. The poor girl was a wreck. Flunking out of school, having to repeat her senior year, really tore at her self-confidence.  
  
It was the worst time imaginable for Oliver to distance himself from his sister—which was what he had been doing ever since the auction.  
  
Felicity knew Oliver felt guilty, using some twisted, self-loathing logic that he was at fault for taking Thea to the auction. Felicity knew that he believed he was acting in Thea’s best interest; he believed he was doing the right thing when he kept his distance.  
  
Felicity planned on telling him that he was being an idiot and doing more harm than good.  
  
That should be easier to swallow with his favorite food. But not with that horrible thing that stood on her counter.  
  
“Mrs. Felicity, what did you do?”  
  
Felicity jumped at the unexpected voice from the doorway. She brought her hand to her chest. “Valentina. I’m sorry, I forgot you’re still here.”  
  
Her housekeeper was pulling a night-shift. Her daughter, Ekaterina, was sick and Valentina didn’t want to leave the teenage girl alone this morning (a courtesy Thea Queen had probably never experienced). Felicity had told her housekeeper to take the day off – her apartment wasn’t _that_ dirty – but Valentina had showed up in the evening, after her husband Maxim had gotten home from work (it baffled Felicity that being a Russian mobster turned out to be a nine-to-five job).  
  
Great. Now that amazing cook had to witness Felicity’s utter defeat. “I wanted to cook for Oliver, but....” She gestured toward the casserole which said more than words could.  
  
“It’s good that you cook for Mr. Queen. He’s a strong man, he needs to eat good, home-cooked meals.” Valentina showed her approval of the basic idea with an empathic nod. “You’re a good wife, caring for your man.”  
  
Felicity didn’t really know how to react to that. Valentina spared her from having to say anything when she continued talking. “I’ll come by tomorrow evening and teach you.”  
  
“Teach me?”  
  
“To cook.”  
  
“Oh.” That was an unexpected development—and not an entirely welcome one. “Thanks for the offer, but that’s really not necessary.” She forced one of her patented fake smiles onto her face. “Please don’t feel like you have to help me.”  
  
“No, no. I want to help you.” Valentina was still smiling. “I’ll be here at six tomorrow.”  
  
“I can’t tomorrow,” Felicity hurried to say. And she was speaking the truth: tomorrow was Tommy Merlyn’s birthday and she had agreed to go with Oliver to the birthday dinner. Now that she thought about it, Felicity would actually prefer cooking lessons by her favorite Russian woman.  
  
“Then I come by the day after tomorrow. Six o’clock.”  
  
The happy look on Valentina’s face made it impossible for Felicity to decline. She kept from sighing. “Make that seven-thirty, I won’t be home from work earlier.”  
  
“Okay,” Valentina smiled. “Goodnight, Mrs. Felicity.”  
  
“Night, Valentina. We’ll see each other Thursday.”  
  
With one last honest smile, the Russian woman disappeared down the hall as the sound of a key being turned announced Oliver’s arrival.  
  
“Valentina.” His surprised voice floated from the hall into the main room. “How are you?”  
  
“I am good, Mr. Queen.” Valentina hurried to say, using that slightly submissive voice she deemed necessary to address a Captain. “Thank you. I was just about to leave.”  
  
A few more polite set phrases followed until the front door closed behind Valentina and Oliver, finally, entered the main room. “Hey.” His nose wrinkled. “What happened here?”  
  
“Don’t worry, our housekeeper already forced cooking lessons on me so that I can serve home-cooked meals to my strong Captain of a husband.” That had been snappier than necessary, Felicity realized. She deflated a little and pointed at the casserole. “I messed up the lasagna and we need to talk about stuff that needs to be softened by carbs and melted cheese. I should have known. Really, there’s so much previous evidence that I’m the worst cook ever.” She looked at Oliver, coming to a stop next to her. “That probably makes me a bad wife.”  
  
A dim smile played around Oliver’s lips. “Good thing I didn’t marry you for your cooking skills.”  
  
“I don’t even want to know what you married me for. It’s probably offensive.”  
  
He chuckled. His arms closed around her, pulling her closer to his body. His teeth nibbled her lower lip for a second before he kissed her. It had been meant to be a little peck, but when his lips left hers again, she could practically see something spark in his eyes.  
  
“Yeah,” he admitted. “It’s a little offensive, but I don’t think you’d really mind.” He captured her mouth with his again. The kiss was deep and demanding as he pressed her against his body. Passion leaked from him, there was an air of urgency around him, and it lit something inside Felicity, who felt a sudden and entirely unexpected heat crash through her. Her arms were on his back, her hands fisting his plaid shirt as she returned his hungry kiss.  
  
His breathing was heavy when his lips finally left hers. She could feel his breath brush over her skin as he kept his face close to hers and whispered, “You said to come home ASAP—thanks for adding that nobody was hurt or kidnapped.”  
  
Felicity knew that Oliver hurrying home from the Foundry meant he might have taken the time to shower, but not to come down from his Hood-adrenaline. She could feel the energy running through him, felt his tense muscles under his shirt, his heavy breathing. The blue in his eyes had turned darker, his lips were slightly parted as he stared at her with intent. “I’m not complaining,” she smirked up at him. “All that energy’s—”  
  
He cut her off right there. All impatience and barely restrained energy, he kissed her again. His hands travelled down her back to cup her behind. He lifted her up onto the counter (thank God not the one the lasagna rested on). Impatiently, he tugged at her shirt (stained with lasagna sauce, which was beside the point but also not sexy). Breaking the kiss, she gave him room to pull her shirt over her head and toss it behind him carelessly. Instantly, his mouth was on her skin again, his teeth nibbling her neck, his lips closing around her pulse point only to dip lower. His beard was scratchy against his skin, but she didn’t mind. His hands reached to her back to open her bra with well-practiced expertise. He tore the black cloth away to cup her breast, his tongue trailed down to flick her nipple. A moan escaped her lips as she leaned her head back, closing her eyes, enjoying the overall sensation that was his wet lips and his skilled tongue, his hot breath and his strong hands. The latter slipped under her printed yellow skirt, caressing her thigh until his fingers slid past her underwear.  
  
Heat claimed her, making her cheeks burn, her stomach flutter, and her breath hitch in her throat. Finally, she forced her eyes open again, reaching for his head, pulling him to her. Their mouths crashed together again, tongues dueling in a fight of passion, desire building rapidly inside them.  
  
Felicity was the one to break the kiss. She started unbuttoning his shirt, but Oliver simply pulled the plaid thing over his head along with the shirt he had underneath. Felicity brought her lips to his chest. Now it was her exploring, sucking, licking, biting his skin, but she could feel that he was too impatient for that. Making him step back, she hopped off the counter and fumbled with the buttons of his jeans. She pushed his pants and his underwear down and sank to her knees before him. Looking up at him, she saw his chest rising and falling. His eyes turned even darker as they silently urged her on. She trailed her hand up the inside his leg to finally close her hand around him. She brought her mouth closer, meeting his eyes above the rim of her glasses. An expletive turning into a grunt escaped his lips and he involuntarily pushed his hips forward.  
  
She couldn’t help but smirk before closing her lips around him. His hand flew to the back of her head, tangling in her hair as her mouth worked around him, her eyes still on him. Desire was softening his face, opening him up, making him look vulnerable in a way that came with pure need. It grew with each movement of her mouth, of her hands, with each flick of her tongue. She continued to pleasure him, speeding her movements up as the pressure of his hand on her head increased. A groan escaped him from deep in his throat as she twisted her tongue around him and he couldn’t keep eye-contact any longer. He tilted his head back slightly, enjoying her attention. She knew he was close, but then his hand left her head. He stepped back, freeing himself from her gently, pulling her up. “I wasn’t done,” she playfully objected, watching him slip his shoes off and step out of his pants.  
  
“Neither am I.” He reached for her and kissed her again, directing her away from the kitchen (that might as well be used for pleasure since it was obviously never used for decent cooking) and to the couch. She opened the zipper of her skirt and let it fall to the floor. Her panties followed.  
  
Turning her around, Oliver placed her on the couch, her knees on the soft cushions, and positioned himself behind her, dragging himself up and down her center, finding her ready for him. He entered her in one slow push, burring himself deeply, only to draw out again. His movements were forceful instantly, while his hands rested on her waist, pulling her to him. He was close already, she could feel it in his nearly desperate rhythm. Bending forward, he molded his body against hers, bringing his arm around her. He cupped her breast, played with her nipple. His staccato breathing was next to her ear as his hand traveled down and between them onto to press down on exactly the spot she needed it. “Yes,” she hissed and pushed back against him. Wrapped up in her own desire now, she closed her eyes and bit her lip, needing this, needing him.  
  
Following her unspoken order, he moved harder against her while his hand worked faster. She could feel that he was close, she could feel that he was desperate, fighting to hold back to not speed ahead without her, but he couldn’t hold back long. He peaked and the sensation of him breaking inside her, against her, with a groan of ecstatic excitement made her follow. Pure pleasure ripped through her, a cascade of bliss whitening her vision and shrinking her world to the sensation inside her caused by the man she loved.  
  
Gasping for air, she tried to come down from her high, craning her head so that she could look at Oliver. An expression of utter relaxation she had come to know as post-orgasmic bliss lit up his face. She couldn’t help but smile at him, feeling spent but relaxed. He bent forward and placed sloppy kisses on her back, upward until his nose nuzzled her neck. “You’re remarkable,” he whispered.  
  
She just smiled and brought her hand to his cheek, caressing it, feeling so relaxed that all words escaped her. After a moment of silence, he finally pulled out of her. Felicity sank down on the couch, stretching out on it, motioning for Oliver to come join her. A content sigh left her lips as she snuggled against him, her head resting on his chest. She kissed his chest and closed her eyes, enjoying the familiar sound of his heartbeat under her ear. His fingers ghosted up and down her spine.  
  
“You’re lucky,” Felicity mumbled against his chest. “Now I don’t feel like discussing all the stuff I needed you to come home ASAP for. And all because I fail at cooking.”  
  
She heard a smile in his voice. “You excel when it matters.”  
  
“I take pride in my work, getting the job— Nope, I won’t go there and ruin the mood.”  
  
He chuckled and kissed the top of her head.  
  
“What did you do to have so much energy to vent?”  
  
He answered quietly, “You said you didn’t want to ruin the mood.”  
  
That didn’t exactly ruin the mood but it did make her tense the barest bit. She glanced up at him, meeting his eyes. “Why? What happened? Are you hurt? No, that’s a stupid question. I just took a thorough look at you and I didn’t see one scratch. You’re unscratched.”  
  
“I am.” He sighed, his fingertips trailing her back. “I scratched a name of the list. Guillermo Barrera, an assassin. World class. He kills high profile targets.”  
  
“There are a lot of assassins on your list,” Felicity observed. “And arms dealers. I wonder what that’s about.” She sighed. “You didn’t simply tie him up and leave him for the police to find, did you?”  
  
“No. He left me no choice—and now I have no clue who his target was and if he or she’s still in danger.” Tilting his head, he looked at her. “I took his phone,” he said. “Could you have a look at it?”  
  
“Now I know why you married me: my technical skills.”  
  
Showing her that he understood her teasing, he winked. “No, they’re just a bonus.” He kissed her. “One of many, actually.”  
  
  
  
**February 27th, 2013**  
  
Oliver could blame nobody but himself, nothing but his own single-mindedness.  
  
When he pulled up the hood it was killed or be killed. The island and everything that came after rushed back to him in those moments, the fight for survival, the desperation to come out swinging. Five years of hard-earned lessons egged him on to fulfill his mission and every time he drew his bow, his mission was to kill.  
  
Last night there had never been the option to let Guillermo Barrera live. The Hood had gone to that heliport to cross a name off his list. Because that was his mission, it was his atonement as much as it was honoring his father. He had confronted an assassin with an affinity for knives—a detail he had omitted when talking to Felicity, because it wasn’t necessary for her to know about _that_. There had been no way in hell that that guy could be allowed to leave the heliport.  
  
He had been short-sighted. Oliver could admit that now. He hadn’t contemplated the reason why Barrera was in Starling City, hadn’t wasted one thought on a possible target and the fact that his revenge might endanger somebody else. Taking the assassin’s phone had been his attempt to correct this oversight.  
  
That try had gone up in smoke.  
  
When Felicity had hooked up the cell to a secure laptop (it was absolutely offline, Felicity had promised him that or he would have forced her to go to the Foundry with him; there was no more hacking from home), the chip card had spiked and been fried instantly, leaving Felicity nothing to do but mutter, “Geez, that’s one paranoid assassin. But look who’s talking. Lately, paranoia is my middle name.”  
  
Actually, it was Megan.  
  
And her maiden name was Smoak. He had asked, because... he felt like should know that.  
  
Even though that girl, Felicity Smoak, was nowhere to be found. In fact, his Felicity was nowhere to be found either. Felicity Queen was climbing the stairs next to him, all tension and a serious expression. Oliver knew that he didn’t have any right to judge, but he couldn’t help but dislike the company for this occasion.  
  
The sign on the wall marked this as the second floor. Their destination lay on the third and Oliver brought his hand to Felicity’s arm, causing her to halt next to him. “Felicity, it’s going to be fine. Please, relax.”  
  
“No. To both things you just said: it won’t be fine and I can’t relax.”  
  
Oliver sighed. “It’s a birthday dinner, not an execution.”  
  
“It’s Tommy’s birthday dinner. With Laurel. And Detective Lance. And Laurel’s best friend. Oh, and Tommy, of course.” She tilted her head to the side. “So, why don’t you just kill me now?”  
  
“You don’t even know Laurel’s best friend.”  
  
Felicity looked at him like he had must have lost his mind. He liked seeing that look, because it was quite expressive. Her Queen-mask had slipped, which he appreciated. “Oliver,” she said, strictly, “she’s Laurel’s best friend. Do you have any idea how my best friend would act toward Laurel if the roles were reversed?”  
  
Okay, she did have a point there, but that colorful mental image she painted had a flaw. “I don’t think there’s another best friend like your best friend out there.”  
  
“Ya! ‘Course my best friend is awesome.” Felicity smirked, but the lightness left her face almost instantly. She sighed. “I’m nervous about this, okay? And I need to be—”  
  
“Yourself,” he cut in. “I want them to meet _you_.” In a comforting gesture, he placed his hand on her shoulder. “Tommy especially invited you; he promised everybody’d be on their best behavior. And you forgot somebody else who’s gonna be there.”  
  
She frowned. “Who?”  
  
“Me, Felicity. I’m right there with you.”  
  
Her internal struggle was visible on her face—and he saw that her insecurities won.  
  
“I—” she started, but he simply closed his hand on her arm, wordlessly signaling her that he understood. Too much had happened with the people who were waiting for them one floor above. She needed to feel in control and hide her vulnerability. How could he, of all people, not understand and accept that? Especially since he knew that she was only here for him, because he had asked her to come. He knew he was asking for a lot and that her doing this showed how much she loved him. He sent her one last nod, which was understanding and encouragement at the same time.  
  
Together, they climbed the last flight of stairs and walked down the hall toward number 305. It didn’t take long for Tommy to answer Oliver’s knock. His friend greeted him with a smile, the width of which Oliver couldn’t match. Hugging his best friend and thumping his back, Oliver said, “Happy birthday, buddy.”  
  
“Thanks!” Tommy smiled and stepped to the side. “Come on in.”  
  
“Happy birthday,” Felicity offered as she entered the apartment with Oliver.  
  
“Thank you.” Tommy answered, took the bag Oliver held out to him, and smirked. “This feels like a Châteauneuf-du-Pape.”  
  
“It’s going to taste like one, too.” Oliver closed the door.  
  
“You’re a true friend.” Tommy led them into the dining room where Laurel sat at a table with her father and a woman whose eyes traveled up and down Felicity instantly. Everybody shook hands awkwardly. Felicity and Joanna, Laurel’s friend, introduced each other. Oliver and Felicity told Quentin Lance to, please, call them Oliver and Felicity, but the Detective simply huffed, leaving them all standing next to the table in uneasy silence.  
  
Nothing of that could drag the birthday boy’s mood down. All smiles, Tommy handed them glasses filled with white wine and lifted his own. “A toast.” The others followed suit, Detective Lance raising a glass that looked like it was filled with soda. “To the first birthday I’ve enjoyed in a long time. I got my best friend back, and I know why poets have been in business all these years.”  
  
“Cheers!” They all clicked glasses and drank.  
  
Joanna ended the silence. “He’s getting worse,” she commented, winking at her best friend. “Ever since you accepted his proposal he’s been on cloud nine.”  
  
“Make that nine billion,” Tommy winked. “I have a reputation to live up to.”  
  
Laurel playfully rolled her eyes at him, placing her hand on his stomach while her father looked honestly unimpressed. Oliver could see that Lance kept himself from adding something to the conversation.  
  
Luckily, the doorbell rang. Laurel set her glass on the table. “That should be the food.”  
  
She went toward the door and the eyes of the men met. “Thank God she didn’t cook,” Oliver whispered.  
  
Tommy nodded. “Amen.”  
  
“She got that from her mother,” Lance added and Oliver could see that he’d even surprised himself. “That woman couldn’t crack open an egg without injuring herself.”  
  
_Is there one woman in Starling City that can cook_ , Oliver wondered. It honestly, honestly didn’t feel like it.  
  
Tommy was about to add a comment when Laurel returned—accompanied by Malcolm Merlyn. The words got stuck in Tommy’s throat. Instead, he gawked at his father. “What are you doing here?”  
  
“It’s your birthday,” Merlyn offered. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you.” He handed Tommy a small blue box with a big white bow. “Happy birthday.”  
  
The ringing of a phone cut into the following silence, causing Quentin Lance to curse under his breath, set his glass down, and reach for his cell. Oliver could see that his friend was torn between wanting to kick his father out – the man who had cut him off emotionally when he had been only a kid and financially about three months ago – and inviting him to stay. That had been Tommy’s primal struggle all his life: the constant shifting between wanting to please his father and accepting that he couldn’t be pleased, wanting the man closer and wanting him gone. But Oliver knew firsthand that your dad stayed your dad, no matter what. For this reason Tommy’s next words didn’t surprise his best friend, at all.  
  
“Thank you,” Tommy said and tried a weak smile.  
  
Quentin Lance ended his call. “I’m sorry, Tommy. There was a bank robbery downtown and I’m on call tonight.”  
  
Oliver tensed involuntarily. And, instantaneously, Felicity’s hand rested on his arm in a silent reminder that he had promised not to rush out and leave her alone tonight. A bank robbery that had already happened most definitely wasn’t worth breaking this promise. He forced himself to relax a little.  
  
“That’s fine,” Tommy said, giving his future father-in-law a smile. “It was nice of you to come and thanks for the tickets. The game will be epic.”  
  
Lance simply huffed, but Oliver couldn’t shake off the feeling that it was mostly for show. The detective said his good-bye and Laurel accompanied him to the door.  
  
Malcolm Merlyn smiled at the people around him, revealing perfectly white teeth. “Since you’re one man down, can I invite myself for dinner?”  
  
Again Tommy struggled with the answer for a moment, before ultimately giving into hope with a serious expression. “Sure, Dad. It would be nice if you stayed.”  
  
Another doorbell and when Laurel returned this time she brought the food with her. Minutes later everybody was seated around the table. The atmosphere wasn’t exactly tense, but there was a certain stiffness. Tommy’s light and easy mood had darkened as it did every time his father was present. Sitting at the head of the table, he busied himself filling his plate with mass amounts of tapas. Oliver could practically see his friend thinking, debating if his father’s appearance was a peace-offering, signaling the complete acceptance of all his decisions. Oliver knew that’s what he was hoping for. Laurel and her friend sat opposite each other, left and right to Tommy, sending each other not-exactly-subtle glances across the table. Both were uneasy. Laurel was digging her brain for something to say, but she obviously came up empty.  
  
Reaching for his wine glass, Malcolm Merlyn, who sat next to Laurel, ended the silence. “Mrs. Queen, I was shocked when I heard the news. Jeff Clearwater always was a good friend, I never would have expected such deceit from him.”  
  
Oliver sat between Joanna and Felicity. Glancing to his right he saw his wife nod. “Yes, neither did I.”  
  
“Are you sure that it was Jeff?” Malcolm Merlyn inquired.  
  
“All evidence suggests it.”  
  
Oliver noticed that this answer was perfectly vague. Of course, Oliver knew of Felicity’s suspicions and her doubts. He knew that she wasn’t sure so he also knew what Felicity wasn’t saying. But as he looked at Malcolm Merlyn directly opposite him, he saw something in the older man’s eyes. Oliver couldn’t really name it, couldn’t define what he found there, but it triggered unease in him. Something was going on underneath the surface, something to be wary of.  
  
Felicity Queen sent Merlyn a small smile. “And I gathered the evidence myself. Who can I trust if I don’t trust myself?”  
  
“That’s a very smart question,” Tommy’s father complimented earnestly, then focused his attention on Oliver. “You have a very smart wife, Oliver.”  
  
“I know.” Oliver said matter-of-factly. He held Merlyn’s glance for a second, before he reached for the bowl with olives, hoping this was enough dismissal to end the conversation—and that the olives weren’t drenched in garlic, Oliver hated that.  
  
He could sense that Joanna had thought of something she wanted to say, but before she could actually do it, Malcolm Merlyn was talking again. “The fact that Jeff hired a Tibetan hacker seems outrageous to me.”  
  
“Chinese.” Felicity corrected. “The hacker was from China.”  
  
“Makes sense,” Tommy chimed in. “Tibet, isn’t that full of monks living in castles on the top of mountains? Getting wifi up there must be a bitch.” This comment was answered with laughter—from everybody but his father.  
  
“Mrs. Queen,” Merlyn said, “I just realized that we never got around to formally discussing Merlyn Global switching to Firestorm software.”  
  
Felicity returned the billionaire’s gaze calmly. “No,” she confirmed and reached for her glass, “we didn’t.”  
  
Oliver looked at his wife while chewing on his olive – too much garlic, as he had feared – and took in her professional smile, the calm way she looked at the older man through her glasses, how her high ponytail moved as she slightly tipped her head. She was still wearing the red dress she had worn to work because she hadn’t found the time to go home and change and... sudden realization hit Oliver. Suddenly, he understood.  
  
Felicity Queen was the only person at this table able to keep up with Malcolm Merlyn.  
  
Unfazed, she met the man’s challenging gaze while sending the challenge right back. Oliver knew that she wasn’t perfectly relaxed, she couldn’t be, but she seemed unfazed, letting Merlyn bounce right off her shell, her public mask. She was used to dealing with members of Starling City’s elite, with the “old men club,” as she called it. This dinner, or at least this part of it, was just another day at the office for Felicity Queen.  
  
It shocked Oliver that he had never fully grasped how good she truly was at this—as evidenced by the fact that she had never asked Merlyn to address her as Felicity. He was calling her Mrs. Queen. There was a distance between them, a certain form of respect that Merlyn didn’t grant anybody else in this room. Felicity Queen was power-playing the CEO of Merlyn Global and more than keeping up.  
  
Pride rushed through Oliver as his eyes travelled over the woman he loved, the only person in this room that Malcolm Merlyn considered an equal, the only person he had addressed, started a conversation with while completely ignoring his son. The latter was an observation to take note of, even if it didn’t make sense to Oliver. He filed it away for later analysis as he had done with the gleam he had seen in Merlyn’s eyes.  
  
The man curved his lips into a smile that lacked all warmth. “Then we should catch up on that.”  
  
“We should. But you should give us another month to ready our new software.” Felicity gave him another one of her fake polite smiles. “Then I can charge you more.”  
  
Laughter fell from Malcolm Merlyn’s lips. “Oh, I sense negotiating with you will be a pleasure.”  
  
Felicity’s smile changed a little, but otherwise she left that statement uncommented.  
  
Joanna used the chance to switch topics. “Oh. I’ve been meaning to tell you,” she looked at Laurel, “the florist you wanted to use for the wedding decorations foreclosed last week.”  
  
Acting as if he was following the exchange, Oliver subtly brought his hand to Felicity’s leg, squeezing it slightly in silent praise and support.  
  
“But,” Laurel let her fork sink as she stared at her best friend. “I already ordered all the flowers there. I mean, the wedding’s in two months. Are you sure?”  
  
“Very sure,” Joanna nodded. Laurel let the fork drop and leaned back in her chair.  
  
“There’s a cute flower shop downtown, on the corner of Harris and Jameson.” Felicity entering the conversation, surprising everyone present. Their heads turned to her as Felicity continued. “It’s called Flower Power. The name is bad, but their arrangements are beautiful. It belongs to my bodyguard’s fiancée. He sometimes brings arrangements too old for her to sell anymore.” She shrugged. “Just a suggestion.”  
  
Laurel obviously needed a moment to catch herself. Laurel and Felicity’s eyes met across the table. For a few heartbeats the looked at each other. Then Laurel nodded. “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”  
  
“Okay,” Tommy cut in, looking suspiciously between the brunette and the blonde. “What’s happening here?”  
  
Laurel held Felicity’s gaze. “Just two adults talking. Being civil.”  
  
Felicity didn’t take her eyes off Laurel either. “I agree, our last conversations were a bit too Desperate Housewives of Starling City—minus the drink throwing.”  
  
Laurel stared at Felicity for a few long seconds, then the decision was made. “Oh God,” she said, faking embarrassment, “you watch that show, too?”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
Felicity’s answer was a lie, Oliver knew. He had witnessed a long and heated rant about Felicity’s dislike of said show when the producers had called and asked if Felicity Queen wanted to star in the next season. She didn’t; she’d rather go back to Lian Yu with Oliver to face torturing soldiers—her words, not his, very much not his words. So, Oliver knew that her lie was Felicity Queen’s way of accepting the cease-fire Laurel Lance offered. It was the best that either women could do right now.  
  
“Well, since we’re all so friendly....” Tommy cleared his throat and settled his eyes on Oliver, who knew what was coming. “Ollie, I’m still one man short for the wedding. One best man, actually. And I thought, maybe you’re up for the job.”

Since he had expected this question, Oliver didn’t need to think about it. He knew what he had to do and did it without hesitation. “Definitely.” He smiled. “More than up for it.”  
  
Happiness shone from Tommy’s eyes, moved and joyous. Oliver saw Laurel place her hand on her fiancé’s cheek, smiling with the knowledge of what this meant to the man she loved. Witnessing the scene left Oliver strangely emotional, too. He lifted his glass and winked at his childhood buddy. “Your bachelor party will be epic. I promise.”  
  
Instantly, Laurel’s hand fell from Tommy’s face as she glared at Oliver who raised his hands. “Just kidding.”  
  
“Oh,” Malcolm Merlyn spoke up. “I remember some very epic parties. One caused me to have to renovate the back lawns.”  
  
Tommy smirked boyishly. “Yeah, but that Quad-race was epic.”  
  
No, it had been stupid and childish, and it had somehow involved girls undressing. But Oliver simply nodded. Like Felicity, keeping her true feelings about Desperate Housewives of SC to herself, he wouldn’t reveal how his evaluation of the past varied very much from his friend’s.  
  
“Tommy,” Malcolm said now. “I have a request, too.”  
  
Oliver couldn’t help but think that Tommy looked a little suspicious, but he kept his tone light. “Well, ask away. As evidenced by this day, none of us are getting any younger.”  
  
“I am being honored by the Starling City Municipal Group. They are bestowing me with their annual humanitarian award. I would like you to be at the awards gala.”  
  
“You would?” Tommy asked and Oliver could hear the positive surprise.  
  
“I would.”  
  
Tommy’s smile said it all. It was a wonderful sight, Oliver thought. Turns out, Tommy Merlyn got all he wished for on his birthday.  
  
  
  
**March 2 nd, 2013**  
  
The Hood was desperate—desperate enough to call Detective Lance for help.  
  
Of course, Lance hadn’t been helpful at all, leaving Oliver with a whole lot of nothing.  
  
Oliver didn’t have direct proof, but he knew that the killer he had scratched off his list had been replaced by a new one. There was somebody out there with a price on his head and Oliver was helpless to help him. If Oliver had showed more restraint during his fight with Barrera, he might have gotten an answer from him.  
  
Now he was paying the price for his actions.  
  
No, in truth, somebody else was in danger of paying.  
  
Diggle had agreed to stay in the Foundry to check the police scanner and all of Felicity’s computer searches. He’d contact Oliver as soon as anything suspicious happened. Felicity had promised to cover for him if he had to rush out of this gala, but until then he had to keep his promise and accompany her to the gala of Starling City Municipal Group. She had gone to Tommy’s birthday with him, after all.  
  
A waiter walked past and Oliver used the opportunity to take two glasses off his tray. He handed one to Felicity, who thanked him with a nod and clicked glasses with him. Taking a small sip for appearances, he let his eyes sweep the huge room.  
  
The event celebrating the humanitarian of the year had just begun. People were engaged in friendly chatter, their voices filling up the high room, bouncing off the marble floor and walls, seemingly multiplying. The unpleasant effect fit this whole unpleasant affair.  
  
“Your mother’s already here,” Felicity observed.  
  
Oliver had noticed her. “Who’s the man she’s talking to?”  
  
“Frank Chen. CEO of...” Felicity frowned, thinking, “...something.”  
  
Oliver sighed. “Isn’t everybody here CEO of something?”  
  
“Everybody but you!” Thea suddenly appeared next to her brother, all smiles and cheery good mood. “Long time no see, bitches.”  
  
“Thea,” Oliver said and that word alone made the instant annoyance he felt perfectly clear, “what are you doing here?”  
  
“Polishing up my image. Humanitarian stuff should trump charity-stuff, right? Worst way to spend a Saturday, though. Apart from nearly getting blown up, of course.” She giggled.  
  
Oliver didn’t share her amusement. Nothing of this was funny. He hadn’t seen his sister since the bomb-collar-fiasco—despite Felicity’s insistence. When he had returned after stopping The Dodger, Thea had been a teary mess of run mascara. Oliver had used the after-shocks of panic and adrenaline as an excuse to get his shaking sister home without informing the police. Thea had blindly let him lead the way and never asked for an explanation of what had happened. Oliver had decided that he wouldn’t offer her one if she didn’t ask because he didn’t have an explanation, not a good one that could count as a believable lie.  
  
He couldn’t deal with the mess that had been the auction, couldn’t deal with her right now. Every day for a week Felicity had chided him for that. She was probably glad that Thea had popped up unexpectedly.  
  
To Oliver’s surprise, though, there wasn’t any happiness on Felicity’s face. Instead, there was suspicion. Carefully, she eyed the younger girl, tilting her head. It was Felicity’s analytical glance, Oliver knew. He had seen it quite a few times—but then Felicity had always been looking at a computer screen. He frowned and turned to Thea completely, trying to see what had peaked Felicity’s suspicion.  
  
As soon as Oliver stopped avoiding eye-contact with his sister, he knew. His lips pressed together as his face twisted, sending Thea a death-glare.  
  
The younger girl looked unaffected and feigned confusion. “What?”  
  
Oliver fought against the urge to shake her when Felicity reached for the glass of water in Thea’s hand. Taking it from her, she took a sip—and coughed, her eyes watering. Oliver had seen Felicity react like that once before: at a Russian funeral.  
  
The glare Oliver pinned his sister down with turned even deadlier but Thea only shrugged. “What? I’m keeping up appearances.”  
  
“Only until the glass is empty,” Felicity shot back. “This is pure Vodka.”  
  
“I know.” Thea grinned.  
  
Breathing deliberately, Oliver concentrated on bringing air into his lungs and out again. He needed to focus on that, on inhaling and exhaling, because that was a good thing to do, a necessary thing to do, a harmless and unsuspicious thing to do. Unlike grabbing his sister and telling her in unmistakable terms and most likely a very loud voice what he thought about her and her behavior—which was what he really wanted to do.  
  
Felicity’s eyes snapped to him for a second before she reached for Thea’s arm and turned her toward her and away from her brother—as if that would help calm Oliver down. He kept breathing and let Felicity do the talking for now.  
  
“I thought flunking might have given you a hint that you can’t go on like this.”  
  
“What?” Thea looked at her sister-in-law. “It’s Saturday.”  
  
“Thea,” Felicity sighed while slightly raising the glass, “you’re drinking Vodka as if it were water. And if you’re a not Russian mobster that isn’t acceptable behavior.”  
  
Thea smirked. “Man, I gotta get to Warsaw.”  
  
“That’s in Poland. Which proves that you need to keep going to school.”  
  
The smirk fell from Thea’s face. Instantly, her defenses kicked in and she crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I’ve spent four hours at CNRI today—on a Saturday. Don’t I deserve a little fun?”  
  
“Not like this,” Oliver growled.  
  
“The Queens! Fancy meeting you here, all fancy.” Tommy appeared next to Oliver but the happy expression vanished when he realized that nobody reacted to him. Noticing the tension and the angry staring, Tommy asked, his voice careful, “What’s going on here?”  
  
Ignoring Tommy but fixating on Thea, Felicity said, her voice leaving no room for objection, “Come on, we’ll get you a glass of water.”  
  
Of course, Thea objected anyway. “You’re not my mother. So stop acting like it,” she snarled.  
  
“Well, somebody has to do it.” Handing the glass to Oliver (who automatically took it, only to then wonder what the hell he was supposed to do with the Vodka), Felicity reached for Thea’s arm and pulled her away.  
  
Tommy frowned and motioned to the glass in Oliver’s hand. “What’s wrong with the water you’ve got there?”  
  
“It’s Vodka.”  
  
“Ahh,” Tommy nodded, understanding. He smirked. “Remember when we did that at your—” Noticing the glare his best friend sent him, Tommy changed mental gears instantly. “Nope, me neither. Absolutely no memory of my first Vodka encounter.”  
  
Oliver decided that breathing was his best option. He concentrated on that.  
  
The chairman of the Starling City Municipal Group mounting the stage spared Oliver from having to say anything. Oliver’s eyes were on the man taking position behind the microphone, but his mind came to the conclusion that tonight most definitely wasn’t Thea’s first Vodka encounter. The image of Thea standing by the bar stocked by the Starling City Cancer Society before the bomb collar replayed in front of Oliver’s inner eye and suddenly the smile and wink the bartender had given his little sister in her short golden dress came with very different connotations.  
  
Mechanically following the lead of the people around him, Oliver brought his hands together to clap as Malcolm Merlyn appeared onstage. Too late Oliver remembered that he was holding a nearly full glass. Some of the see-through liquid spilled, splashing over his hand, straining his suit.  
  
Oliver couldn’t bring himself to care; he was too busy cursing himself for being so blind before. He hadn’t noticed anything at the auction because Ray Palmer had stepped into Felicity’s path. He had been distracted and rushed away from Thea, who had disappeared and came back with a bomb around her neck.  
  
In retrospect, the incident had probably kept his baby sister from getting hammered at the auction. That didn’t make the whole thing better, exactly.  
  
Tommy shifting next to him brought Oliver back to the here and now. He glanced at his friend whose eyes looked a little watery, and in that moment Malcolm Merlyn’s words weren’t only reaching his ears but also his brain.  
  
“The true humanitarian in the Merlyn family was my wife Rebecca. Many of you here knew her. She tirelessly devoted herself to helping those less fortunate in the Glades. I like to think that if the man who murdered her knew, knew the work that she did, knew the person that she was... he would have helped her to her car, made sure she was safe, instead of stealing her purse and shooting her. The truth is, I haven’t done enough for this city. My city.”  
  
Something tugged on the edges of Oliver’s awareness. Slowly, he turned his head to the left and the huge glass windows stretching from floor to ceiling. His eyes moved over the surface for a second. A tiny, barely visible red dot made his muscles flex and propelled him toward the stage. The glass fell from his hand and clashed to the ground. The crash was drowned out by the massive glass window shattering inward. Pushing people out of the way, Oliver forced his way through the screaming crowd. Jumping to the podium wasn’t a conscious action; autopilot was driving Oliver forward. An instinct that couldn’t be denied made him tackle his best friend’s father and throw him to the ground just as another bang ripped through the air. Both men landed on the floor behind the stage. Two more shots followed, hitting the stage directly above him.  
  
Suddenly security guards swarmed the room. With their guns drawn they spread out, all aiming at the destroyed window. No shots followed and after a few heartbeats Oliver dared to lift his head and look at Merlyn. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”  
  
“No.” Malcolm Merlyn’s voice was strong, full of determination.  
  
Oliver got off the floor. Tommy was beside him in second. He was strangely breathless. He looked at his father getting up and then at his best friend, already standing. Tommy’s eyes grew big. “You’re hurt.”  
  
Looking where Tommy pointed, Oliver saw a blood stain on his right arm. He hadn’t even noticed that. “It’s nothing,” he dismissed. “Just a graze.”  
  
“Oliver!” That was his mother. Moira looked terrified, running toward him. He had never seen her like that, looking close to self-destruction.  
  
“It’s nothing,” he assured her. “It’s ju—” The sentence got stuck in his mouth as his tongue suddenly felt too heavy. His vision blurred. His body felt heavy. His knees grew weak. He crashed to the floor.  
  
“OLIVER!” His mother fell to her knees next to him. He stared at her, meeting her eyes, willing his lips to move and tell her that he was poisoned. He wanted to tell her one word, ‘Curare’, but he barely managed to keep his eyes open. All sounds dimmed suddenly, muted as nothing was left but the blood rushing in his ears. Suddenly Felicity’s face appeared in his line of sight, her lips were moving but he couldn’t hear her, couldn’t understand her, couldn’t make her understand. He stared at her, he needed to tell her, he needed to—


	30. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You wonderful amazing people: thank you for the amazing feedback you sent my way after the previous chapter. I know ending mid-sentence was cruel. [I won't do that again - I promise!] Thank you for cliffhanging with me! Your (enraged) comments were absolutely warranted—and utterly amazing!  
>   
> Oh – talking about amazing: I was informed that this story’s nominated as an All-Time Favorite Arrow Fanfic in the [Fanatic Fanfic Multifandom Awards](http://fanaticfanficsawards.blogspot.de/p/nominees-by-category.html)! I haven’t stopped grinning since I got this message. Thank you to whoever suggested me and put my writing out there. I love so many stories on that nomination-list, so that’s awesome. Thank you!  
>   
> And the biggest thank you to **Albiona** : I couldn’t do this without you. Love you! (And your wish is my command. Plus, your observations were perfect.)

**March 2 nd, 2013**  
  
She had asked Malcolm Merlyn to, please, call her Felicity. **  
  
** It was the least she could do after he had saved Oliver’s life. **  
  
** How he had realized that the bullet had been laced with Curare, Felicity had no idea. She had to admit that she had been too fearful to think clearly, to remember the night of the Unidac Auction when John had been hit by a poisoned bullet. All of that had been far from her mind (especially since her most prominent memory of that particular night included being held at gunpoint and saved by a hooded guy that turned out to be the man she was married to.) **  
  
** Seeing Oliver go limp and crash to the floor had forced all rational thoughts from her. Her mind had emptied with the shock and she had been reduced to rushing over to him and watching his eyes roll into the back of his head. **  
  
** Malcolm Merlyn had been absolutely calm, and he had taken action. Using a first aid kit, he had improvised a blood-transfusion – Moira had the fitting blood type – and bridged the time gap until an ambulance had pulled up. **  
  
** The man had improvised a blood-transfusion. That was a crazy sentence—one of many Felicity had used lately to describe the craziness that was her reality. **  
  
** It also was the reason Felicity really couldn’t despise Malcolm Merlyn anymore. He had saved Oliver; the man she loved was alive because of him. He might not be a nice person, but he was a lesser evil now—a lesser evil that had earned calling her by her first name. **  
  
** Sitting on an uncomfortable chair in one of the finest rooms Starling City General had to offer, Felicity couldn’t help but think that she had seen too much of this damn hospital lately. At least, this time she didn’t have to make up a story. Everybody knew what had happened, everybody had seen Oliver in his suit (not his leather one, but his best tux which had been torn and cut into pieces) dive at the Humanitarian of the Year 2013 and take a bullet for him. **  
  
** That probably meant that Oliver had a good shot (pun not intended) at becoming Humanitarian of the Year 2014. **  
  
** Uncounted people had told Felicity that she was married to a hero. That had been awkward. How could people think that the minutes two paramedics used to work on her only half-conscious husband were a good time to shake her hand and congratulate her? Sometimes people really baffled her. **  
  
** Plus: Felicity didn’t need to be told that. She knew. **  
  
** She wasn’t exactly thrilled, because being married to a hero apparently meant rushing to the hospital after a near-death experience every other month, but she couldn’t fault Oliver for saving another man’s life. Especially since she constantly chided him for scratching names off his list, which very often involved taking lives. **  
  
** But apparently you could get used to rushing to the hospital every other month, because Felicity had composed herself rather quickly when the paramedics had told her that the prognosis was very, very good. Luckily, Oliver had regained consciousness pretty fast. The dose of Curare must have varied from the one John had been hit with at the Exchange Building, because John had been knocked out later but more thoroughly, while Oliver had been gone quicker but also came around faster. **  
  
** Neither seemed like a very good option. **  
  
** Realizing what she was thinking left her a little uncomfortable. Still, she hid her uneasiness as she sat in a chair next to the bed Oliver had been forced into by a very insistent nurse. **  
  
** Moira, on the other hand, was up in arms. Her steps were forceful as she paced at the foot of the bed, her nude heels clicking on the ground, while Thea sat silently in a chair. Abruptly Moira stopped, facing her son, glaring at him. “What were you thinking?” **  
  
** Oliver seemed unfazed. “I wasn’t thinking at all. I just acted.” **  
  
** That probably was the absolute truth. Since the dreadful shooting at Firestorm, Felicity knew that he had a sixth sense when it came to impending danger. He was alert in ways that he couldn’t really describe and that she couldn’t really grasp. **  
  
** “Damn right, you weren’t thinking! Because that was stupid!” **  
  
** Moira’s words didn’t affect Oliver at all. **  
  
** Probably because he had done dumber things than tackling a man who was under fire. **  
  
** He sat on the bed facing Felicity on his left, ignoring Thea sitting behind him, his head turned to his mother. “Mom, please. Nothing happened.” **  
  
** “Nothing—” Moira Queen gasped. “You nearly died! How can that be nothing?” She shook her head and said, quieter, more to herself than to the other people in the room, “Malcolm Merlyn is not worth getting killed for.” **  
  
** The sentence rang strange in Felicity’s ears. She frowned, but kept from getting into this strictly mother-son debate. **  
  
** “Nobody got killed,” Oliver said, annoyed. “I’m fine.” He looked toward the door and then at Felicity. “You said Digg’s coming?” **  
  
** “Yes,” Felicity answered. “He’s stopping by the apartment to get you some clothes.” She gestured to the hospital gown he wore, the white wrap covered with blue and turquoise dots, the open back revealing grey boxer briefs. “Though the paparazzi downstairs would have a field day with you in this outfit.” **  
  
** Oliver sent her an unimpressed look—while he received a strict stare by his mother. “The doctors said that you should stay the night to make sure all poison is out of your body.” **  
  
** “That’s not necessary,” Oliver stated and felt like that was all there was to say. **  
  
** “Felicity,” Moira snapped and gestured to her son. “Tell your husband how irresponsible he’s acting.” **  
  
** “You’re acting irresponsibly.” Felicity obliged. The lack of conviction in her voice turned her into the target of a strict glare from her mother-in-law. Felicity threw her hands up. “Have you ever met your son? Debating this is like talking to a brick wall.” **  
  
** Moira huffed, and Felicity deliberately avoided Oliver’s eyes and the glare he directed at her. His disapproval was obvious—and justified. Because Felicity knew: if she put her foot down and told him in her strict voice that there was no way he’d get out of this bed before sunrise, he’d do it. He’d stay to ease her mind. For her he would. After the whole Vertigo-scare he had taken thirty- _five_ minutes to drink two liters of water, after all. **  
  
** The reason she didn’t insist on him staying the night was selfish: only taking him home would ease her mind. She needed normalcy as proof that he was really okay. Seeing him collapse had been worse than finding him unconscious next to a dumpster, worse than seeing him on the table in the Foundry fighting the near-overdose of Vertigo. **  
  
** It had been worse because tonight there hadn’t been any fight, just knees giving in and his body crashing to the ground. It had happened in seconds and she had been helpless to do anything but watch the strength drain from him. **  
  
** One of the first things that came to her mind when thinking of Oliver was his strength—both in the physical and mental sense. There were his strong, rough hands that made her feel safe. There were the muscles of his well-trained body, hardened and marked by fights. But there was also his determination, the strength of his belief that bordered (and mostly crossed into) stubbornness. Seeing all of that being stripped away by a scratch when he had survived things that had left horrible scars had shaken Felicity. **  
  
** If he believed that he was good to go home she’d trust him—she needed him to be good. **  
  
** Okay, apparently, she wasn’t really used to rushing to the hospital after a near-death scare every other month. **  
  
** “How can you be so calm?” Moira chided her. **  
  
** As if any of this was her fault! Felicity knew that her mother-in-law was shaken, but she was lashing out at the wrong person. Felicity glared at the older woman. “Because if I don’t I’ll freak-out—and you’ve got that covered for the both of us!” **  
  
** The women glared at each other. Oliver raised his hands in a calming manner but Moira spoke before he could voice anything. She took a step forward, eyes fixed on her son. “We just got you back! You need to stop being so reckless. Why were you all in that room anyway? I didn’t know you were coming! Neither of you was supposed to be there!” **  
  
** “Believe me,” Thea, who had followed the whole exchange with heavy eyelids, got up from the chair in the corner, “I wish I hadn’t been there. And I wish I was anywhere but here, with anybody but all of YOU!” She stalked across the room and left, the door banging behind her. **  
  
** Silence followed. Oliver was the one to end it. “Mom, don’t worry about me,” he gestured toward the door. “Worry about Thea.” **  
  
** Moira stared at him. “My, thank you, Oliver. Doing that never crossed my mind!” Her hands hung by her sides as she looked at her son. “Excuse me for worrying about both of you.” The Moira Queen mask of righteous haughtiness was back up. After one last stare at the couple she turned. Opening the door, she revealed John Diggle, who had been about to knock. “Mrs. Queen,” he greeted. **  
  
** Moira passed him with a nod. “Mr. Diggle.” **  
  
** John closed the door carefully. “What happened?” **  
  
** “My mother’s being difficult.” Oliver angrily shook his head. “As if I took that bullet to spite her.” **  
  
** “She’s worried,” Felicity said and was surprised to find herself defending Moira. “She means well.” **  
  
** John handed a plastic bag to Oliver. “That’s great. I meant: what happened at the gala? Felicity said you were shot protecting Malcolm Merlyn, but you don’t look hurt.” **  
  
** Silence settled over the room. Felicity wordlessly urged Oliver to do this. This was his field of expertise. When John had trouble with Carly, she’d handle it, but bullets laced with poison, assassins killing family members, and revenge of any kind was up to him. **  
  
** Slowly, Oliver turned to John. His voice held a softness that he normally reserved for addressing Felicity. “I’m not here because I was shot. It was only a graze. But the bullet that scratched me was laced with Curare.” **  
  
** The soldier stared at his partner. Felicity could practically see the pieces fall into place and understanding take over. But the look on John’s face made it clear that the suggestion wasn’t enough, he needed to hear it. **  
  
** “Deadshot was the substitute killer. This is proof: Lawton’s alive.” **  
  
** John’s face changed, it fell, lost its strength as a horribly haunted expression contorted his features and his eyes filled with pain. The murderer who had killed Andy Diggle, who had ripped John’s brother from him, taken the husband from the woman John loved and the father from the boy John cared for, was still out there. He was still busy killing people, taking lives, spreading the pain that John Diggle was experiencing. Felicity saw the peace of mind stripped from her friend right in front of her eyes. Her heart broke for him. **  
  
** Oliver’s face had lost all hardness, too. “I’m sorry, John.” **  
  
** Oliver’s use of his partner’s first name was both a sign of compassion and of the seriousness of the situation, and it forced Felicity off her chair. She took a step toward the huge man who seemed to have sunk, fallen, lost strength in a different way than Oliver had today. She brought her hand up. “John—” **  
  
** A forceful shake of his head was enough to cut her off. The gesture stopped her hand before it touched his arm. John brought his hands to his head then rubbed his face. He inhaled deeply and turned around. Felicity watched him leave the room without another word. This time the door closed with a soft click. **  
  
** “That’s it,” Felicity looked at Oliver, still on the bed wearing that stupid gown. “We’re never going to another gala again. They only mean trouble for us.” **  
  
  
  
March 4 th, 2013  
  
**The Robert Queen Memorial opened weeks before Verdant. **  
  
** It seemed wrong that it was supposedly easier to open a clinic than a club. But Felicity knew that was an unfair simplification. Moira Queen had more money to spend than her son, which meant more people had worked longer hours. **  
  
** The low building nestled between taller ones was spotless. Graffiti-free cement walls painted white gave it the air of cleanliness that really worked for a medical facility. Its name spread out above the huge glass sliding doors in the blue font known from Queen Consolidated. Even if you were being philanthropic, it apparently couldn’t hurt to flaunt your corporate identity. Especially if you stood right in front of the entrance at the opening ceremony, the name above you completing the perfect backdrop for pictures. **  
  
** The photographers crowded the sidewalk and spilled onto the street. Flashbulbs erupted all around as Moira Queen did what she had come here to do. With the ease gained in uncounted previous ceremonial cuttings, the Queen matriarch cut the red ribbon spread in front of the doors. The ends floated toward the pavement while Moira shook hands with Dr. Hank Mathews, who was in charge of the medical aspects of the Robert Queen Memorial. It was a big name for a free clinic in the Glades, but Felicity had come to realize that big was the Queen way. **  
  
** Since all of these proceedings happened in memory of the deceased family leader, all Queens were expected to attend. Felicity stood like a buffer between Oliver and Thea. They had taken position behind Moira and Dr. Mathews in strategic spots, allowing the press to take good pictures. Today, press coverage wasn’t unwanted attention but positive public relations—there was a fine but notable distinction. **  
  
** The Queen siblings knew and were all perfect pretense and tension. A barely there nod had been the only acknowledgement those two had given each other and to Felicity that didn’t count as a decent greeting, even if it fulfilled the official Queen family motto of always keeping up appearances. **  
  
** Felicity was forced to do the same. It would hardly be good news if she publicly knocked Oliver’s and Thea’s heads together. Also, ignoring the Queen connection, Felicity was mainly here to support her best friend. Kristina Miles, Head Nurse of the RQM, was in charge of 20 people and responsible for all things care. Now that the official part was done with, the members of the press tried to snatch one of RQM’s representatives for a quick interview. Moira was already smiling into a TV-camera, while Dr. Mathews spoke into a tiny recording device. Felicity saw a TV crew head their way and turned to Oliver. “Your turn.” **  
  
** He stared at her. “You want me to talk to the press?” The unspoken choice her steely gaze gave him was to talk to the press or to talk to his sister. Instantly, he headed toward the reporters, keeping them from coming too close. **  
  
** Felicity turned to Thea. She wasn’t really sure what to say, since she knew that none of the topics she really wanted to address were appropriate for a conversation on a sidewalk. Pulling her a few steps away from the entrance, she went the easiest route and asked, “How are you?” **  
  
** “Good.” **  
  
** She wasn’t. She had a hangover. Thea’s make-up couldn’t hide how exhausted and drained she looked. Particularly her eyes were tired. Felicity pointedly didn’t sigh. “I heard you’re focusing on your community service for now, so that you can start fresh next school year and concentrate on that.” **  
  
** “Yep.” **  
  
** “500 hours of community service,” Felicity thought for a second, “that’s 62.5 eight-hour workdays. With a five day week you’re done in... 12.5 weeks. A little more than three months. Sounds doable—and you’ll have the summer off.” **  
  
** “Wow.” The younger girl stared at her. “You’re such a geek, calculating that off the top of your head.” Seeing the expression on the blonde’s face, Thea added in a harsh voice. “And spare me any hint at school and needing to stay to improve my calculating skills. I’ll never be a mathlete.” **  
  
** “Thea.” Now Felicity sighed. “I want to help you. Tell me what I can do.” **  
  
** “Leave me alone.” **  
  
** “Other than that.” **  
  
** “You can stop judging me. And you can stop telling me that my brother cares when he can’t even look me in the eyes anymore.” And there they were: the topics that shouldn’t be discussed on a sidewalk with the press close by. **  
  
** Turning her back to the assembled press, she moved closer to Thea and whispered. “I know what happened at the auction must have shook you. It was a horrible experience, I know. You have questions and—” **  
  
** “Oh, I have no questions. None at all, because I’m not stupid. I know my brother’s insane. And you’re insane for dealing with him. He nearly died last Saturday and he acts as if that’s nothing when it’s everything, him dying.” **  
  
** “You’re right.” **  
  
** In utter disbelief, Thea stared at her sister-in-law. “I’m right. Just like that?” **  
  
** Felicity dared a small shrug and spoke quietly. “It’s the truth: Oliver nearly died, like you thought he died on that boat. You’re right when you say that he has... issues.” **  
  
** Thea huffed. “That’s the understatement of the year.” **  
  
** Felicity ignored her. “But he’s back. And he’s trying. He’s getting better. I know that you’re not happy with him right now. That’s okay, you have every right not to be. But he’s not your main problem and you know that.” She reached for Thea’s hand glancing around quickly before continuing, “I want to help you, Thea. Any way I can. You need to let somebody, anybody help you, because you can’t keep going on like this. And not because it makes Oliver angry or embarrasses your mother or makes me want to shake you. Only because you’re hurting yourself. You need to stop this for your own sake.” **  
  
** The tired eyes of Thea Queen slowly filled with tears. In an effort to catch herself and avoid Felicity, Thea let her eyes wander over the street and the assembled people. “Oh.” She said then. “Look who’s there.” Freeing her hand from Felicity’s grip, she headed across the street. That was a lame avoidance-technic if Felicity ever saw one. She frowned as Thea stopped opposite a young man—in a red hoodie. **  
  
** “Who’s the Abercrombie-dude?” **  
  
** Felicity turned to her best friend, who had suddenly popped up next to her. “I think he’s the cute robber that stole Thea’s vintage purse and that she’s now using to avoid my words filled with knowledge.” **  
  
** Kristina nodded appreciatively. “I’ve seen worse avoidance methods. He is kind of cute—for a thief.” **  
  
** Taking her eyes of her hung over sister-in-law flirting across the street, Felicity turned to her best friend. “Do you really want to be seen with me? Your nurses are already gossiping.” **  
  
** “Pfft,” Tina dismissed that with a wave of her hand. “Let them. I’m not disowning my best friend. They’ll soon find out that my pure awesomeness got me this job and not my connections to local royalty.” **  
  
** “That’s the spirit.” **  
  
** “What are your plans on Saturday?” **  
  
** Felicity thought for a second. “Apart from trying to get my new software to work? None.” **  
  
** “Awesome, then: you and I, girls’ night. It’s been forever since our last one. Your hubby’s keeping you too busy.” **  
  
** There was no denying that. “You’re right. We’ve got a date.” Felicity felt somebody approach them and knew Oliver had finished his interview. She glanced at him and saw that his eyes were glued to the other side of the road. **  
  
** “Who’s that with Thea?” he asked, stopping next to Felicity. **  
  
** Hurrying to answer, before Tina could mention the word ‘thief’ in Oliver’s presence, Felicity said. “Just a guy she knows from her internship.” **  
  
** “The last thing Thea needs right now is a guy to complicate things,” Oliver decided and was about to head over when Felicity grabbed his wrist firmly. **  
  
** “Don’t,” she warned. “There’s enough tension between you and Thea as it is. Don’t go over there and make things worse with unnecessary overprotectiveness.” The look on Oliver’s face showed her clearly that he couldn’t see anything unnecessary about this. But, at least, he wasn’t struggling against her grip. **  
  
** “Listen to your wife, hubby,” Tina chimed in. “Your sister’s just talking to some pretty boy—when we all know that she’s already done more than talking.” Seeing the two matching death glares (which were founded in very different objections but looked alike), the brunette frowned. To Felicity’s dread, Tina decided to deal with Oliver’s angry look. “What? Come on, you don’t believe she’s a virgin, do you?” Since Felicity knew her best friend she knew that she believed her next words to be honestly comforting. “She can always come to the clinic. We have a program for young and sexually active girls. I’ll get her condoms, explain safer sex….” That was the moment Kristina realized that Oliver didn’t take any comfort from her words. “…Which I’m sure she knows about and practices.” **  
  
** Now Oliver snatched his arm from Felicity’s grip. “Oliver,” she hissed, trying to avoid attracting the attention of the press and overshadowing the positive news Moira wanted to generate. Angrily, Felicity turned to her friend, “Seriously?” **  
  
** “I developed the program myself. It’s a good program—even if I can’t think of a good name for it. The working title so far is ‘better safe than sorry’.” **  
  
** “I’m not talking about the program and you know it.” **  
  
** The two friends watched as Oliver walked toward the couple. His steps were full of purpose and Felicity noticed the tension in his body increasing. The smile that Thea sent Roy died on her face as Oliver marched up and barged right in their conversation. He held his hand out and the kid took it on autopilot. Felicity bet that right about now the boy cursed this automatism. Oliver’s grip was probably like iron. **  
  
** Oliver’s lips moved, but his words couldn’t be heard over the street separating them. Instead, Kristina spoke up and said in a deepened voice. “Hey, we haven’t met. I’m hubby, Thea’s disapproving older brother.” **  
  
** Felicity couldn’t help but chuckle, even though that really wasn’t funny. She sighed. “Him acting like that won’t help things with Thea.” **  
  
** “No,” the brunette agreed, “most likely not.” **  
  
** Both women turned away from the scene across the street. “I can’t let them go on like this. I have to do something,” Felicity decided. **  
  
** “You said that before,” Kristina reminded. **  
  
** “I know. But this time I’m serious.” **  
  
  
  
March 5 th, 2013  
  
**Damian James might be a backstabbing deceiver (Katie had started calling him Demon James, which was kind of awesome), but he knew numbers. **  
  
** Her former CFO, who was currently in custody, might have been part of the reason why Firestorm, Inc., had started to burn, but he _had_ tried to put out the fire. **  
  
** That seemed like somewhat polar behavior to Felicity. First time that was ever good news. **  
  
** Good news that Walter Steele had just given Felicity and Jerry via video conference. The CEO of Firestorm, Inc. and her trusted EA sat in the conference room on the first floor while Walter’s larger-than-life face peered from above them. He had been one of the first people Felicity had informed of their findings revolving on the (supposed) corporate espionage and sabotage—and Walter had stepped up like the knight with financial expertise he was and offered to act as a temporary CFO until Felicity found a new one. The biggest part of Felicity never wanted to find anybody, but she knew she had to listen to the smaller part. **  
  
** “All in all, the prognosis is very good. To my best knowledge our course of action promises the most success,” Walter concluded. **  
  
** “Then we’ll stick to this plan,” Felicity said and added a smile. “Thank you, Walter, for doing this.” **  
  
** “Of course.” The answer from New York came with a little delay. “How is the search for a new CFO going?” **  
  
** “Well. We can’t be a completely lost cause; we got quite a few applications. Interviews are scheduled for next week.” She looked at Jerry. “Thursday and Friday?” **  
  
** Her EA nodded. “Yes, and two on Saturday.” **  
  
** “You see, your days as a Firestormer are numbered,” Felicity teased Walter. “But don’t worry, you’ll always be an honorary team member.” **  
  
** Walter smiled. “A title I carry proudly.” **  
  
** Felicity returned the smile before glancing at Jerry. “Can you give us a moment?” **  
  
** “Sure.” Jerry gathered his notes (his refusal to use a tablet was the main reason Firestorm would never be a paperless office) and sent a polite nod toward the camera positioned above the screen. “Have a good day, Mr. Steele.” **  
  
** “Thank you, Mr. Conway. I wish you the same.” **  
  
** Felicity waited for Jerry to carefully close the door. Alone in the conference room she met her mentor’s eyes and the older man sighed instantly.  
  
“I sense a conversation that would have come with treats if we were in the same city.” **  
  
** “You need to come home, Walter.” **  
  
** “Felicity, I cannot have this discussion with you again. I have responsibilities here in New York.” **  
  
** “What about your responsibilities in Starling?” **  
  
** “You know that I’m always there for you, Felicity,” Walter said, his face and voice softening. **  
  
** “This isn’t about me. It’s about Thea. She’s... struggling... for more than one reason, but I know that she misses you and that she feels like you left her.” **  
  
** “I talk to Thea on the phone at least every other day.” Walter’s demeanor hardened. “I know that she has made some poor decisions, but she’s invested in turning things around. She doesn’t like her work at CNRI, but she assured me that she would not give up.” **  
  
** “That doesn’t change the fact that she drinks too much.” **  
  
** “Felicity, I hardly think you can be judgmental about that. Do I need to remind you of the incident with the coconut? Or the wedding in Las Vegas?” **  
  
** Yeah, okay, that had happened, but, “Those were single incidents that happened years apart. There’s a difference between a drunken girls’ night every once in a while and habitually masking Vodka as water.” Felicity sighed. “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. I just feel like you being here would help Thea—and she needs help.” **  
  
** Silence followed Felicity’s plea. Walter glanced past his camera for a few instants. He shook his head. “I will discuss this with Moira. Maybe she can get through to Thea.” **  
  
** “She can’t.” There was absolutely no doubt within Felicity that this was the absolute truth. **  
  
** “I cannot return to Starling City.” **  
  
** “Can’t you and Moira ju—” **  
  
** “This has nothing to do with Moira.” Walter’s voice was unusually cutting. **  
  
** “Then what is it?” **  
  
** “Developments that are beyond my control. I have set things in motion that endangered people dear to me. For that reason, it is safest for everybody if I stay here.” **  
  
** “What?” Felicity stared at her stepfather-in-law, the wheels in her head turning, spinning faster and faster until the metaphorical light bulb lit. “Is this because of what you wanted to show me in the ware—” **  
  
** “This discussion is over! I will talk to Thea and Moira. Thank you for sharing your worries with me.” He sent her the most forced smile possible (even Oliver’s faked smiles were better than that). The way he reached across the table in front of him showed Felicity that he wouldn’t relent. “Have a good day, Felicity.” The screen went black.  
  
_________________________________________ **  
  
  
** Ken William had received an unfriendly warning and returned the money he stole in time to put his ten year old son to bed. That allowed Oliver to return to the Foundry to pick up Diggle and get home in time to have dinner with his wife. **  
  
** Talk about good time management. **  
  
** With a swipe of his keycard Oliver instructed the elevator to take him and Diggle to the fourteenth floor. Only the dim buzzing of the moving cabin was audible as the two men stood next to each other in silence. The revelation that his brother’s killer was still alive weighed on his partner, Oliver knew. A chapter Diggle had believed to be closed had opened again and brought old thoughts and emotions with it. **  
  
** Oliver had gathered enough firsthand knowledge to interpret which force caused Diggle to turn a sparring-match into a near fight today. **  
  
** The soldier had too much control to let things get out of hand, he didn’t share Oliver’s lack of anger management. But he had fought harder, put more force behind his punches, jabs, and kicks. And that was a form of expression Oliver could read perfectly. **  
  
** After all of that, Diggle’s demand that they needed to add Floyd “Deadshot” Lawton to the Hood’s list of targets had hardly been surprising. Last time, Oliver used his old A.R.G.U.S.-password to enter Interpol’s databases—that hadn’t worked this afternoon. The knowledge that Felicity didn’t bother with things like passwords brought Diggle here tonight. Oliver had offered to ask Felicity to set up some kind of search algorithm – or whatever that might be called – to keep track of Interpol’s sightings of Deadshot and to – best case scenario – alert them if the sniper for hire ever came near Starling City again. But Diggle wanted to ask her himself, and so Oliver had done something he had never ever done before: he had asked somebody over for dinner. **  
  
** It was official, he had grown up. **  
  
** A pling announced their arrival and the doors of the elevator slid open. **  
  
** “So, Felicity takes cooking-lessons?” Diggle asked as they stepped onto the soft carpet. “How did that happen?” **  
  
** “As far as I know our housekeeper offered after Felicity ruined a casserole.” **  
  
** “As if she didn’t have enough on her plate already—pun not intended. I mean, being a CEO, being our tech-expert, being your wife. The latter’s probably the most work.” **  
  
** The key was already in the lock but Oliver paused long enough to stare at Diggle who sent him a half-smile. Deciding that a look was all the reaction he’d give to that statement, Oliver opened the door, calling, “Hey! I brought company.” **  
  
** “Hey!” Felicity’s happy voice hit his ears as a delicious smell welcomed him. Curving his mouth and lifting his eyebrows, he turned to the man everyone believed was his bodyguard who was closing the door and nodding in appreciation. Oliver had expected he and Diggle would suffer through a meal of half-burnt and half-raw food with fake enjoyment, but those worries vanished as they hung their jackets on the coat rack and entered the main room. **  
  
** Oliver couldn’t help but smile at the sight welcoming them: Felicity stood by the set table, wearing an apron that looked like it had been worn to battle. Strands had come loose from her ponytail and her cheeks were visibly flushed. But there was a proud smile on her face. She motioned to the set table. “I made dinner. All by myself. Okay, Valentina directed me, but I cooked. Chicken Marsala. I fried the hell out of that chicken. Valentina said there’s basically no chance that you’ll get food poisoning!” **  
  
** “That—” Oliver bit back a laugh. “That’s good news.” He went to her, wiped some stray flour off her cheek, and kissed her. “It smells wonderful.” **  
  
** The smile on Felicity’s face got even wider. “Thank you!” She motioned to the table. “Have a seat. I’ll get the drinks. Water for Oliver, of course. But, John, wine?” **  
  
** “No, thank you. A soda’s fine.” **  
  
** An unfamiliar excitement surrounded Felicity, enchanting Oliver. The fact that she was so happy to serve them a home-cooked meal was endearing. This was a new dimension of normal for them, as a couple, and he thoroughly enjoyed it. Sitting down at the table with a friend, clicking glasses, toasting Chef Felicity, and seeing a genuinely pleased smile light up her face as both men complimented her cooking caused Oliver’s heart to beat a little faster. It was such an ordinary moment—and Oliver meant that in the best way possible. He wished it could always be like this. **  
  
** Of course, the fact that they were leading very unorthodox lives caught up with them quickly when Diggle brought up his request. Felicity nodded instantly, “Of course, John.” She looked at Oliver, “We’ll stop by the Foundry on our way to Firestorm tomorrow morning and I’ll set up a trace.” **  
  
** “Thank you,” Diggle said honestly. **  
  
** “We’ll get him,” Oliver said. “I promise you.” **  
  
** Diggle nodded and a moment of silence followed, only filled with the sound of them eating. Felicity was the one to end it. “I talked to Walter today—and he said something that’s bothering me.” Four male eyes settled on her, silently urging her to say more. She set her fork down. “He said he couldn’t come back to Starling City, because that would endanger people he cared about. He said he had set things in motion. And when I asked if that had anything to do with the warehouse he cut me off and hung up.” **  
  
** Thoughtfully, Oliver looked at her. That did sound suspicious, but he didn’t have the slightest idea what to make of it. For months they had tried to find a trace of the wreck, of the people who took it, of a single lead that wasn’t his mother. The lack of findings – especially where the last fact was concerned – troubled Oliver. The idea that the discovery of the warehouse had also driven Walter to leave his home and family, even the city was even more troublesome. What could have happened that made his stepfather move to the other end of the country, away from Felicity and Thea, who both missed the man dearly? Felicity was right to be bothered by that. It bothered him, too. It was another question they didn’t have an answer to—and that was an even bigger bother. **  
  
** Felicity sighed. “I know. It’s not exactly helpful, but that whole conversation with him was weird. I openly asked him to come back—for Thea’s sake. I told him she needed him here. And he refused.” **  
  
** Accusation was audible in her voice—and pain. Oliver’s facial expression softened, but before he could say anything, Felicity continued talking. “Which is why you’ll have to go and talk to Thea.” **  
  
** Instantly, the softness left Oliver’s face. “Felicity,” he made her name sound like warning. “This isn’t the right time to discuss that.” **  
  
** “Why not?!” **  
  
** His voice sounded strained. “Because we have a guest. I don’t want to fight with you in front of him.”  
  
Oliver sent the other man a quick sideways glance, realizing that he had just called Diggle _a guest_. Oliver knew that was an utterly ridiculous label for his _partner_. The solider had witnessed some pretty intense moments between Felicity and Oliver; he had seen both of them in states that were varying forms of messed up. And, apparently, the possibility of an upcoming fight didn’t rattle Diggle in the slightest. Calm and collected, he concentrated on his food, obviously ready to let the others do whatever they needed to do, waiting out the drama.  
  
Felicity brought Oliver’s attention back to her. “Then simply agree to talk to your sister.” **  
  
** Oliver’s cutlery clanked onto his plate. “I’ve nothing to say to her at the moment.” **  
  
** “You sure had something to say to her yesterday when you saw her with that guy.” **  
  
** “She doesn’t need some dude messing with her when she’s already vulnerable.” **  
  
** “Maybe he doesn’t need a drunk rich girl complicating _his_ life, either!” **  
  
** Oliver stiffened. He sent her an angry glare. He couldn’t believe she had actually said that sentence that sounded so wrong while holding so much truth. He really didn’t want to discuss his run-in with Roy. Felicity had chided him more than enough yesterday and he honestly didn’t need to hear it again. **  
  
** The expression on his face caused her to sigh. “I’m just saying that you need to talk to her. Thea said you couldn’t even look her in the eyes anymore. And she’s right. She’s wrong about the reasons for that, but she’s right that you’re avoiding her.” **  
  
** “What do you want me to do, Felicity? Tell her the truth? That would only endanger her! Apparently, even Walter’s in danger.” Oliver had lost his appetite. He sank back in his chair, ignoring the still eating John Diggle who looked not only completely unaffected but also slightly amused. **  
  
** “I’m not saying that you should tell her the truth—but some version of it,” Felicity said calmly as Oliver’s heart beat heavier with rising aggravation. “I know you think you’re protecting her, but you’re not. Distancing yourself from your sister is the worst thing you can do right now.” **  
  
** “You told me that before—and I told you before that I disagree.” **  
  
** “Okay,” Felicity’s calm was wavering. “Then let me tell you that I know you’re distancing yourself from her for your own sake more than for hers. You’re not helping her. What you’re doing’s selfish!” **  
  
** That accusation slapped Oliver right in the face. He stared at her, angry and hurt. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Slowly he exhaled. **  
  
** “I’m sorry, Oliver,” Felicity spoke gently, “but it’s the truth. Thea needs her brother right now. She needs to know that you’re there for her and that you support her. She needs to know that you’re okay. Seeing you get shot freaked her out – which I can relate to – and she’s afraid that you’ll leave her. Walter’s left her and now you’re avoiding her—when you’re not busy threatening guys she’s talking to on the sidewalk. We both know that Thea deals with something like that in the worst way.” **  
  
** Avoiding the eyes of the other two people in the room, Oliver fought for composure. Felicity’s words resonated within him; he knew that she was right. His sister was fragile, she wasn’t stable, and he knew that the wrong push could cause the house of cards she had built for herself to collapse. **  
  
** It was the reason why he kept his distance—because he feared he would be the one to make it all fall apart for her. **  
  
** “Thea’s state is not your fault,” Felicity’s statement cut into his ongoing attempt to collect himself enough to say something. She spoke quietly but with an urgency that begged him to understand. “Drinking, taking drugs, it’s her own decision and she’s the one who needs to make the choice to stop. But we – _you_ – need to show her that we support her.” **  
  
** “I tried. I can’t.” Oliver’s eyes snapped to her. “Thea and I can’t have a normal conversation. I asked her about her future plans and she shut down. She didn’t tell me she’s flunking, she told _you_. I am the wrong person to get through to Thea.” **  
  
** “That’s not true.” **  
  
** “It is true. There are so many things I can’t tell her.” **  
  
** Felicity stared at him. “So, you’ll just stand by and watch, doing nothing? Oliver, this is a catastrophe with a timer and we’re letting it count down. I, you, your mother, Walter. We need to take action.” **  
  
** “What do you want me to do? I can’t pick up my bow and threaten my sister into sobriety. If I could I’d be hooded up by now.” **  
  
** Oliver wished he could just get up from this table and leave. It was an uncomfortable situation, one that was taking him to his emotional limit, and it pained him that flight was his natural instinct. Never would he run from a physical fight, but this vocal battle that didn’t come with yelling but with a steadily thickening tension and the distinct feeling that he was disappointing Felicity was more than he could handle. He knew that he couldn’t flee, couldn’t just abandon this conversation, because Felicity wouldn’t let it go. She hadn’t let this go for one week, since the auction. He had to see this through, but he wouldn’t let her push him into doing something he knew would only speed up the timer to disaster. **  
  
** He forced himself to look at Felicity. “We both know that I won’t be any help in this situation. I don’t know what to say to her. I’ll only make things worse. I can’t talk to Thea.” **  
  
** A softness captured Felicity’s face and Oliver knew that she had added the appendage to this sentence he had left unsaid, ‘like I can talk to you.’ **  
  
** After spending five years surrounded by people who either believed emotions to be a weakness or suffered from having their emotions turned against them, opening up didn’t come easily to Oliver. He tried, he was fighting to let old habits go, he had let some people in, shown them varying glances of himself. But Felicity was the only person with whom the sharing came naturally, who knew the whole him, who he felt connected to. And until now he had only managed to vocally tell her that he loved her a handful of times. He loved Thea, he loved her unconditionally, he wanted to help her, but he knew he couldn’t. He knew that she was better off being angry at him and turning to other people for help. He knew that with absolute certainty. **  
  
** “I know you’re disappointed,” he told Felicity, “but it’s for the best.” **  
  
** Silence settled over them. John Diggle, who had followed the whole exchange wordlessly while emptying his plate, was the first one to speak. “Is every Queen-dinner this intense? Because I might have to decline the next invitation, no matter how amazing your cooking is, Felicity.”  
  
A sad smile showed on Felicity’s face. “Actually, we’ve had dinner-conversations that were more intense.”  
  
“But it’s in the top three,” Oliver offered. He hesitated, but then he reached for Felicity’s hand that rested on the table and squeezed it, looking at her in question.  
  
Slowly, Felicity nodded. The nod didn’t come with agreement but with acceptance. It was all Oliver could ask for right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special shout-out to LizzyB who kind of called the reversed blood-transfusion. *thumbs up* That was awesome!


	31. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Girls, yet again your pure awesomeness left me a little speechless. Thank you for sharing your thoughts on this fic with me and letting me know what you enjoy. Posting this fic is a magnificent experience thanks to you. So, wholeheartedly: thank you!
> 
> Another heartfelt thank to **Albiona** , my inspiring unicorn and wonderful friend. Words can't express.
> 
> Love and [hopefully] happy reading, Jules

**  
  
March 6 th, 2013**  
  
They had agreed a cease-fire over the Desperate Housewives of Starling City.  
  
That was ridiculous but strangely fitting.  
  
Tommy’s birthday dinner had been three hours of suck, but within the first half hour Felicity and Laurel shared a glance over the dinner table that’d clearly said, _‘I don’t like you but at least you’re not Malcolm Merlyn’_. That was even better than DHSC: a bigger evil demanding attention.  
  
Sitting in Laurel’s living room that night, Felicity had felt a weird common ground: neither woman wanted to be there and do this, but they cared about their men, so they sucked it up for them. Laurel had also sucked it up for Thea and saved her from jail time. Never would Felicity be friends with Laurel, never would she trust her or forget her actions, but she could be civil. Felicity Queen could switch the bitch-mode off and a distant politeness on. Laurel had activated the same behavioral pattern, resulting in a silent agreement between them.  
  
This silent agreement gave Felicity enough strength to enter this office that was explicitly Laurel Lance’s domain.  
  
The tiny office of the CNRI was stuffed with furniture, files, and people. Multiple people talking at the same time created a buzz of voices that vanished as soon as Felicity Queen stepped into the room. Uncounted eyes landed on her. A wave of curiosity and consternation hit her as eyebrows rose with the silent question of _‘what is_ she _doing here?’_  
  
Acting unfazed, Felicity let her eyes fall to the person closest to her, a chubby man in a bad suit. “Hello, I’m looking for Thea Queen.”  
  
“Felicity,” a familiar voice came from her left and suddenly she was faced with Joanna, Laurel Lance’s best friend. “Laurel’s not here.”  
  
Why the other woman thought she was here for Laurel was a mystery to Felicity, but she swallowed all unnecessary words. “But I hope Thea is.” She raised a brown paper bag. “We have a lunch date.” That was a lie. Felicity was ambushing Thea in a place where she hoped her sister-in-law would follow the rules of behavior her mother had drilled into her.  
  
“Oh, she’s digitizing files. I’ll show you,” Joanna motioned for Felicity to follow her.  
  
The two women walked in silence. It was an uncomfortable one, but Felicity Queen kept from filling it with words. There was nothing to say as they headed down the hall, the synchronized clicking of their heels strangely dimmed by the cheap linoleum that covered the floor. Everything looked used and old in this building. From the computer monitors that had once been light grey but were starting the turn yellow to the stained walls.  
  
Joanna led her to a door at the end of the hall and opened it. “Thea, you can take your lunch break, 30 minutes,” she said and left with one last nod to Felicity.  
  
Thea sat at a desk, a screen and a scanner in front of her, piles of files next to it. She was not happy to see Felicity but the latter chose to ignore the expression and gestured to the desk. “Wow, your prediction was dead-on. You _are_ an office monkey.”  
  
Thea stared at her. “What are you doing here—apart from stating the obvious?”  
  
Felicity entered the tiny room that smelled like old paper and decades of non-dusting. “I come with sweet peace-offerings.”  
  
Suspicion written all over her face, Thea watched as Felicity sat the bag onto the desk, took a muffin out, and offered it to her. Slowly, Thea reached for it. “Is this a bribe?”  
  
“It’s a blueberry muffin,” Felicity said and glanced around the room in search for a second chair. There wasn’t one. Seeing that the trash bin was empty, Felicity reached for it. Flipping it over, she sat down. “I just want to see if you’re okay.”  
  
“I’m great.”  
  
Thea’s tone was defensive and aggressive at the same time. One should cancel the other out, but the youngest Queen managed to combine them perfectly into one threatening dismissal. To Felicity that said more than enough for her to change tactics. “Good,” she answered and glanced at her sister-in-law. “And us? Are we good?”  
  
“Why wouldn’t we be?”  
  
“Because the last thing you said to me was ‘I hate you,’ and I can take a hint, you know.”  
  
Thea plugged a berry out of her muffin, taking quick interest in the pastry and in avoiding Felicity’s eyes. “I was just mad because you didn’t stop Ollie from coming over. He went all passive-aggressive on Roy.”  
  
“Yeah, I thought so.” Felicity sighed. “I’m sorry, I tried.” She tipped her head to the side slightly. “When’s your first date with Roy?”  
  
“Saturday.”  
  
“Do you really like him or do you just like pissing off your brother?”  
  
Thea smirked. “Both. Which is a win-win.”  
  
Felicity couldn’t help but chuckle before taking a bite of her muffin. It was heaven—and mostly vitamins.  
  
“I’m sorry for saying I hate you,” Thea whispered.  
  
Felicity quickly chewed and swallowed. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” She looked at the female opposite her. Angry Thea was nowhere to be seen today. Today she was the soft version of herself, the girl that reminded Felicity of the young girl she had met when she had first stepped into Queen Mansion.  
  
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Thea asked, her suspicions already flaring up again.  
  
“I was just remembered the first time we met. I was so nervous to be in the mansion and you sat down next to me and told me about ‘High School Musical’.”  
  
“Yeah,” Thea admitted. “That happened.” She frowned. “Did you see Zac Efron lately? He’s really buff. And very sexy.” Thea sighed. “I’ve always had great taste in men.”  
  
Felicity laughed. “Back when I was twelve or thirteen, I had the biggest crush on David Bor... something. He’s still on some detective-show on TV. But back then he played this vegetarian vampire called Angel. He brooded and frowned a lot and managed to—” Felicity paused and blinked with sudden realization. “Wow.”  
  
“Yeah,” Thea grinned, “seems like you have a type.”  
  
“Oliver wasn’t like that when I met him,” Felicity reminded.  
  
“Yeah, but if he still were how he was back then, you wouldn’t be with him right now.”  
  
“That sentence is a handful, but true.” Felicity watched Thea take a huge bite of her muffin. “I know you miss that guy but I couldn’t stand him—at least not when I was sober. Did I ever tell you that he asked me to board the _Gambit_ with him?”  
  
“No!” Thea practically breathed the word. Her hand with the muffin sank to her lap with the surprise that filled her. “Seriously?”  
  
“Kinda dodged a bullet there. Five years on an island, without electricity, internet, MySpace.” Felicity shuddered.  
  
Thea laughed but turned seriously quickly. She looked uneasy. “Is it okay to joke about it?”  
  
“About MySpace? Sure. It’s like an obligation to make fun of that.”  
  
Again, Thea chuckled. “I was never allowed to get a MySpace account. Mom was really strict... before.”  
  
The last word was nothing but a breath as it left Thea’s lips. It was a small expression that came with so much baggage and hidden meaning that Felicity could feel the heaviness clinging to these two syllables. But a file room in the middle of enemy-territory (calling it that was an over-dramatization, but it felt adequate) wasn’t the right place to get into that topic, Felicity decided. Instead, she addressed the part of the sentence so foreign to her that she couldn’t just let it go. “Your mother was strict? You’re kidding.”  
  
“No,” Thea shook her head, her long curls flowing around her face. “She was really strict. The whole program: curfews, checking where I went, who my friends were, what I saw on TV, if I did my homework. She was über-mom.”  
  
“Oliver said she’d let him get away with murder.”  
  
“Yeah,” Thea nodded. “Ollie could have, but me, never. Maybe it was because he’s a boy.”  
  
Felicity couldn’t help but think that this was somewhat sexist. Pushing that thought away, she said, “I never saw her acting that way, not even back when I stayed with you during my pregnancy.”  
  
Sadness surrounded Thea as she said. “When dad and Ollie went missing she changed. She….”  
  
“Became less maternal?” Felicity suggested.  
  
“More like a Zombie! She stayed in bed for days on end, not eating. She started to get better, but then….”  
  
“Then what?”  
  
“I don’t know. All I know is that I see Malcolm Merlyn come out of our living room and mom heads straight up to her room and doesn’t leave it for a week. The Zombie-apocalypse had returned.” Thea hesitantly met Felicity’s eyes. “You changed that. Well, the baby did, really. It was a reason for mom to get out of bed—even though she was never really the same again. We stopped being a family.”  
  
Felicity reached for Thea’s hand, squeezing it in comfort. “We’re trying to be one again.”  
  
“Yeah,” Thea whispered and bit into her muffin. For a minute both females sat next to each other, eating, not saying anything. It was a comfortable silence that Thea ended, saying quietly, “Thanks for coming by.”  
  
Felicity smiled at her sister-in-law, even though she wouldn’t look at her. “I always love to talk to you. About whatever.”  
  
Slowly, Thea raised her head and nodded. “Okay.”  
  
Felicity returned the nod, because she knew what Thea was telling her: message received.  
  
  
  
**March 14 th, 2013**  
  
Oliver had decided against illuminating the dance floor, disapproving of the ’70s vibe spread by lit squares flashing with color.  
  
That decision had been made when Oliver Queen had been the sole investor in the little enterprise that was opening a club. Being broke at the time, Tommy Merlyn had had to accept that. But times had changed: Malcolm Merlyn had lifted the restrictions on his son’s trust fund. Ever since Tommy’s birthday, and even more so since the humanitarian gala, the Merlyn-men had made up.  
  
As much as Oliver knew that this development should be a good one, he couldn’t approve of it one hundred percent. Tommy was happy – having his father’s attention was something he had always longed for – and having access to money made his friend’s life undoubtedly easier.  
  
But Oliver simply didn’t like Malcolm Merlyn.  
  
Not even the fact that the man had saved his life could change that.  
  
Oliver had a bad feeling about him. Malcolm Merlyn’s behavior had been cold in the past, leaving his son for two years after his mother had died. And his behavior hadn’t improved since. It was still heartless: Malcolm Merlyn tried to get his son to do as he said by cutting him off financially, then he’d showed up at his son’s birthday dinner and spent most of his time ignoring his son and talking business with another CEO. Malcolm Merlyn talked degradingly about the woman his son wanted to marry—Oliver knew he would never forgive anybody talking like that about Felicity.  
  
Tommy Merlyn obviously didn’t share his friend’s finality, because the recent reunion with his dad left him giddy and in a generous mood. “Come on! What’s another few weeks after all his time? I’ll pay.”  
  
“Tommy,” Oliver said, using a light version of his strict voice, “we will _not_ tear out the dance floor again.”  
  
“I talked to a guy this morning. Remodeling’s a piece of cake. LEDs, buddy. LEDs!” Tommy pulled a crumbled sheet of paper out of his pocket.  
  
Oliver took the offered paper, unfolded it, and stared at the information his friend had obviously printed from the internet. “The DMX LED dance floor,” Oliver read, “is a true _highlight_ —” He let the paper sink and gave the other man a blank stare.  
  
“Okay, that’s a bad pun,” Tommy admitted, “but look at the rest. They’re easy to install, durable, and really not expensive. Plus: compared to normal light bulbs you save energy. How awesome it that? Going green at Verdant!”  
  
Ignoring another bad pun, Oliver aimed for a disturbing fact. “Not expensive?” He motioned to the printout. “They want $63,630 for a 576 square foot dance floor!”  
  
“Seriously?” Tommy stared at him. “What happened to the guy who spent $100,000 on fireworks to celebrate his first C in math?”  
  
That guy had spent five years without any access to money. He’d lived on the abilities, then the generousness of others, only to return to Starling and move in with a woman who worked at least twelve hours a day to make sure her employees would get a yearly income of $60,000 to feed their families—an amount that Tommy Merlyn dismissed as dispensable.  
  
That was the true answer Oliver didn’t give his best friend, not wanting to ruin his mood.  
  
“Tommy, we want to finally open next week. I know this club’s your baby and I’m mostly a silent partner, but I veto the LED dance floor.” Before Tommy could react, Oliver turned around to look at John Diggle, who had silently come up from the lair. His sudden appearance startled Tommy but Oliver had felt his partner approach. “Diggle?”  
  
“Mr. Queen, I’m sorry to interrupt. Your mother’s driver, Ricky, just called me. He’s sick and asked me to fill in like I did last month. Is that okay with you, sir?” Oliver could see that Diggle wasn’t exactly happy about this. Last month they had given Ricky a week off so Diggle could keep an eye on Moira. Diggle driving her had been part of a plan, a necessity. This wasn’t. It simply was a favor for a colleague and John Diggle was a good man, one who’d never turn down another.  
  
“Sure,” Oliver answered. “Give my mother my best.”  
  
With another quick jerk of his head directed at Oliver and Tommy, Diggle left, and Oliver placed his attention back on his business partner. “Please, no LED dance floor.”  
  
“Fine,” Tommy sighed. “You’re right. It’s time to get this thing on the road. Ten more days and we’re in the partying business. Oh!” Tommy’s eyes lit up, “I managed to get Steve Aoki for the opening.”  
  
“You did?” Oliver sounded as wary as he felt.  
  
Knowing the story behind that wariness, Tommy said, “He probably doesn’t know that you slept with his sister. Talking about sisters—” Seeing the expression that crossed Oliver’s face, Tommy took a mental step back. “I heard it. I agree. Bad transition. I just wanted to say that Laurel said that Thea’s doing a good job at the CNRI. Seems like she’s coming around.”  
  
Pressing his lips together, Oliver forced himself to acknowledge his friend’s words with a nod. The gesture was just that, a gesture, because Oliver didn’t agree with Tommy’s assessment of the situation, at all. Thea wasn’t coming around. The community service was futile, it was nothing but stupefying labor that didn’t make any difference, that didn’t change anything about Thea or the way she was looking at things, handling things.  
  
Tommy was oblivious to his friend’s negative view on the matter, sounding unfazed when he continued, “Laurel said Felicity came by to have lunch with Thea the other day. While I think that’s nice, it wasn’t so well received by others at the CRNI. You know, interns getting visitors. Visitors barging in there like they owned the place....” Tommy trailed off, only to defend in the next moment, “I’m just telling you so you can tell Felicity. She isn’t doing Thea a favor.”  
  
Again, Oliver’s lips locked forcefully as he replayed his friend’s suggestion in his mind: Oliver was supposed to tell Felicity not to go to the CNRI when she only took that hour out of a very busy and entirely too long work day so that she could do what Oliver refused doing, even though she had very openly asked him to.  
  
Oliver might be a newbie-husband, but even he had enough common sense to know that following that suggestion was a sure way to find trouble—or at least a very angry wife.  
  
Reminding himself that Tommy didn’t know all this, he gave another empty nod. Tommy didn’t know that Felicity wasn’t exactly happy with Oliver. He had disappointed her, which honestly pained Oliver. It was a steady burn that accompanied him for days, since that dinner. But Oliver was sure that he had made the right decision. And he was sure that Felicity having lunch with Thea was better for his sister than anything he could do himself. Felicity knew how to handle emotions and what to say.  
  
Felicity’s words had resonated with Oliver. She wasn’t wrong when she said that Oliver was avoiding Thea because it was easier to keep his distance than face her accusations and questions he didn’t have answers to. But Felicity wasn’t entirely right either; he knew that Thea benefited from his avoidance. Asking all her questions would only endanger her. And he needed her to be safe. He might be doing irreparable damage to his relationship with his baby sister – Felicity warned him that he was – but he believed that was better than irreparably damaging Thea.  
  
Tommy was completely unaware—and Oliver didn’t feel like sharing any of this with the man he claimed was his best friend. Telling Tommy of the dim tension that lingered between Felicity and Oliver seemed just wrong. Maybe, because Oliver knew that his friend and his wife would never be friends; they managed to be friendly, which was more than Oliver could have hoped for a few months ago. He knew that his marriage strained his friendship with his childhood buddy, but Oliver couldn’t help his own reservations. The knowledge always lurked on the edge of his consciousness: Tommy had talked degradingly about the woman Oliver loves.  
  
On the other hand, it seemed perfectly normal that John Diggle knew. Felicity and Oliver had discussed (which was the nice way of summing up that whole conversation) Thea and the best course of action over dinner while Diggle had listened, and it hadn’t been awkward.  
  
The realization that John Diggle knew him better than his proclaimed best friend since childhood surprised Oliver.  
  
The divergence between the two co-owners of this club was proven when Tommy patted his friend’s back. “Felicity’ll be glad you filled her in. CNRI isn’t Bertinelli’s, you know.”  
  
“Yeah,” Oliver forced out. “That’s good advice.”  
  
  
  
**March 15 th, 2013**  
  
Felicity hated job interviews. Being the interviewee was probably nerve wracking. Felicity could imagine. Even though she didn’t have any actual first-hand knowledge (founding your own company kind of entailed that you’d get the job), but she had been a wreck when she asked Walter to consider her start-up as an investment for Queen Consolidated. She remembered her rant beginning with asking Walter to start her up and ending quite a few sentences later with the clarification that she wasn’t making a pass at him.  
  
If Walter hadn’t been Walter, Felicity was nearly one hundred percent certain that Firestorm, Inc., would still be a figment of her very vivid imagination.  
  
Felicity knew she was guilty of complaining for the privileged. After all, she wasn’t the one being interviewed for a job, she was the one interviewing. And she hated it.  
  
If the last months had taught Felicity anything, it was that surrounding yourself with trustworthy people was key. But they had also proven how vital a capable Chief Financial Officer was. So, Felicity was looking for a trustworthy, capable person who fit into the eclectic Firestorm-bunch.  
  
Talk about mission impossible.  
  
“That bad?”  
  
Startled, Felicity’s eyes snapped up, away from newspaper she had been staring at without really seeing. A soft expression on his face, Oliver’s eyes rested on her. As every morning he sat opposite her by their dinner table. Eating his cereal, reading the sports section that now rested flat on the table (the Starling City Panthers had lost again), and spending time together before he’d take her to Firestorm was part of their morning routine. He tipped his head slightly, watching her. “That was a pretty deep sigh.”  
  
Really? Felicity hadn’t even noticed sighing. Sinking back in her seat, she shrugged. “It’s the interviews. I’m wary about them. I don’t want to hire the wrong person.”  
  
“You’ll find the right fit.”  
  
“Like Rosa? Or Damian?”  
  
Oliver shook his head. “Like Tak. And Jerry. And Katie. And all people who’re stacking up the overtime to get that software going.” He reached across the table to take her hand.  
  
She sent him a small smile, feeling the wordless assurance of his touch. “Thanks.”  
  
“You’ll get through today.”  
  
“That’s easy for you to say,” Felicity huffed. “You haven’t witnessed Tak’s interviewing method. He always asks the most random questions, like ‘do you know how many light bulbs are installed in London?’ He claims it’s to test people’s out-of-the-box thinking, but I know he just likes to mess with them. Which is mean. Plus: we’re looking for a CFO. I want somebody who’s thinking inside the box. Inside!”  
  
Oliver squeezed her hand just as the doorbell rang. It was such an unusual sound that Felicity actually flinched. “That must be Digg,” Oliver guessed and got up to open the door.  
  
His reasoning made sense, Felicity realized. The only person who’d get to the fourteenth floor without having to check in and the front desk calling ahead was John Diggle, who Oliver had made head of security. Another sigh fled from Felicity’s lips as she folded her part of the newspaper. It was eight in the morning and she already felt exhausted and on edge. As soon as things calmed down she would take a few days off. Maybe they could leave the city for a long weekend.  
  
How realistic was getting Oliver to let the list rest for a short while? That was worth another sigh.  
  
Vigilantes probably don’t get vacation days.  
  
Oliver returning to the main room followed by John, ended her wishful thinking. As soon as she saw the expressions on their faces she knew something was wrong. It was eight in the morning, couldn’t the catastrophes wait until she finished her first cup of coffee? She got up from her seat. “What happened?”  
  
“Digg says he needs to tell us something.”  
  
“Something not good it seems,” Felicity answered. John stopped in the middle of the room quite a few steps away from Oliver. Felicity moved next to her husband. The soldier’s face was serious and Felicity knew that the news was very, very not good.  
  
“As you know, I played driver for Moira yesterday,” Diggle started and after a nod from Oliver continued. “I thought I’d use the opportunity and....” He reached into the pocket of his black wool-coat. Closing the gap that separated him and the couple, he held a recording device out to Oliver.  
  
Hesitantly, Oliver took it. For several long seconds he stared at it before setting his eyes on John. “You bugged my mother?”  
  
“I did.” Gesturing toward the recorder in Oliver’s hand, John urged. “Play it.”  
  
Felicity saw Oliver’s mental barriers go up. The shields he used when things got too intense emotionally hardened his features, flexed his muscles, stiffened his posture. Just watching him, Felicity’s own heartbeat sped up, a vague sense of dread taking hold of her.  
  
Suddenly a male voice came out of the tiny speaker of the device. _“—in vain. His death would have been the solution.”_  
  
Felicity didn’t recognize the voice, she didn’t have the slightest idea who this man was, but the female voice that spoke up next was without any doubt her mother-in-law. _“I am aware of that. I feel like we have run out of options.”_  
  
_“The most important thing now is to make Carl see reason.”_ The man said, urgency lacing his voice. _“He needs to let this go. He’s in danger of becoming a liability. And you know how_ he _reacts to that.”_ The recording wasn’t the best quality, but every word was perfectly audible. Felicity’s eyes flew to Oliver, who looked pained. He didn’t like what he was hearing. That much was obvious.  
  
His face hardened even more when Moira spoke up again, _“I made it clear to him persuasively that his plans endanger The Undertaking and that_ he _won’t let that happen. I didn’t have to make the usual threats.”_  
  
Felicity’s heart beat even faster. What, the fuck, were ‘the usual threats’? Did Moira have a routine of threatening? That thought made Felicity feel slightly sick. And who was the _he_ they were referring to? The way Moira and her conversational partner said that pronoun made it sound like a curse, like a sword dangling above them.  
  
_“Good,”_ the man on the recording sounded relieved, _“that’s one thing less to worry about. Now all we can do is see this through.”_  
  
_“You can’t be serious.”_ Felicity knew that tone in Moira’s voice. Her mother-in-law was fighting to keep her composure.  
  
_“You of all people should know what he’s capable of,”_ the man said. _“Haven’t you lost enough? He’s willing to take more from you; he showed you that.”  
  
“Believe me, Frank. I am very aware of what I have lost and what I have left to lose. I don’t need you to remind me.”_ Moira’s voice was poison pressed into syllables.  
  
_“I’m sorry,”_ Frank said. _“I know this has been hardest for you. But we don’t have a choice. He compiled the list and we—”  
  
_ Suddenly they were surrounded by heavy silence. Felicity’s eyes snapped to John. “And they _what_? How can it end there?”  
  
The huge man looked truly sorry. “I was surprised by a security guard. That’s all I heard and could record.”  
  
Felicity’s eyes returned to Oliver. He was struggling to keep it together. His hand closed around the recording device so tightly that his knuckles protruded, turning white, making it seem like he was ready to crush the hard plastic to get to the electronics within. Gently, she cupped his hand with hers and opened his fingers to take the evidence from him. “Oliver,” she said softly, digging her brain for a way to continue the sentence. She chose the easy way out, “I’m so sorry.”  
  
He didn’t react to her words, didn’t acknowledge them in any way. He just stood there, an internal tremor tugging at him that was only visible by the way his index finger met his thumb.  
  
In the Foundry he would already be hitting his dummy or something. But this was home, this was his calm place, his relaxing place, and Felicity knew Oliver well enough to know that getting this news here was even worse than getting it in that cold cellar.  
  
“I can get you something to break. Like that vase your mother gave me as a birthday gift. It’s really ugly. Do you want me to get that? It’s not a problem. Destroying that would even count as a symbolic act.” The words flew from her mouth before she could stop them. It wasn’t the smartest thing to say or the best thing to offer but it was all she could think of.  
  
Oliver gave a forceful jerk of his head. His voice was pressed as he said, avoiding everybody’s eyes. “Play it again.”  
  
Felicity did as he asked (who was she kidding, as he _told her_ ). And she did it another time. And another. She gave him ten repeats, then her patience was up. “Okay, that’s enough. The words won’t change, no matter how much we want them to.”  
  
“Oliver, man, I’m sorry,” Diggle offered.  
  
Closing his eyes for a second, Oliver collected himself before he was ready to say something. “It’s definitely her voice. I just can’t believe it’s her.”  
  
“We all have blind spots when it comes to our family,” Diggle said, his voice full of compassion.  
  
“But this sounds like Moira’s in trouble,” Felicity chipped in and her nerves got the better of her, letting her tongue loose, “Okay, she also talks about ‘the usual threats’.... Which could be anything, really. My usual threats are taking the red wine away from Tina and messing up Tak’s hair. I think I threatened to sue you once, John. It could be nothing.” Seeing the looks the two men sent her, she somewhat deflated, “Yeah, I know. This is something.”  
  
“I agree with Felicity, though,” John chimed in. “Whoever that ‘he’ is they’re talking about seems to be in charge of this... Undertaking. And he seems to be dangerous.”  
  
“And he complied the list,” Felicity reminded. She set her eyes on Oliver. “That means he also hired the other archer.”  
  
“I need to know who _he_ is. And what that Undertaking is.” Oliver straightened up, and Felicity saw something take over that counted as his battle mode. He glanced from John to Felicity. “You were right. I need to have a chat with my mom.”  
  
“That didn’t exactly work last time,” John reminded, crossing his arms over his chest.  
  
“But this time it won’t be me asking.”  
  
Felicity needed a moment to understand that he was referring to his alter ego as if he was a completely different person. Instantly, her heartbeat sped up again. “You want to go to her dressed as The Hood? You want to aim an arrow at your mother?” Felicity blinked. “That’s a whole new level of dysfunctional family.”  
  
“I need some answers,” Oliver snapped, his voice hard and laced with aggression. “And I won’t get them any other way. I tried that. I failed. It has to be this way.”  
  
Felicity sighed. “What a crappy way to start the day!” Her eyes wandered to the clock of the microwave. The white numbers showed it was 8:27. She wondered how normal people spend their mornings. She wondered when she had stopped being normal people.  
  
“Tonight,” Oliver decided and looked at John, who actually nodded consent. “I’ll confront her tonight.” His eyes softened the barest bit as they landed on Felicity. “It’ll be fine. I’ll handle this. You know my level of restraint.”  
  
Felicity looked at the stubborn idiot she was hopelessly in love with and couldn’t help but think that, to her knowledge, his restraint level varied dramatically. Still, she nodded, because she knew Oliver wouldn’t hurt his mother. The suggestion alone was ridiculous.  
  
Oliver bent down to kiss her and her hand settled on his cheek, needing the connection.  
  
“Okay,” he said after they parted, “we have to hurry. You’re already late for work.”  
  
Felicity really missed the time – forty minutes ago – when dreadful CFO interviews had been her biggest worry.  
  
_________________________________________  
  
  
He inhaled deeply, sucking the chilly air of an evening in early spring into his lungs. Normally, it wasn’t his style to take a moment and collect himself. Normally, he liked to charge into action without hesitation. But he needed to hesitate to make sure he did this with the right mindset, to make sure that he kept his promise to Felicity on the phone thirty minutes ago. He had to be as calm as possible, as collected and cool as possible, because he had promised he’d do this right.  
  
As right as scaring your mother into confessing her wrong doings could ever be.  
  
Oliver exhaled noisily. This was why he never stopped to think before a fight. Now his thoughts were scrambled up, all tangled in his emotions and intertwined with the women in his life. If he kept this up, he would only achieve the opposite of what he had intended.  
  
Luckily, right then the com came to life. Another promise he had made Felicity, who was still tied up at Firestorm, was to keep a link to the Foundry open. Digg had taken position there and activated the program Felicity had – and this was a direct quote – whipped together. It activated the camera in Moira’s PC without any visible hint. The picture transmitted to Diggle’s screen showed that the man his mother had been talking to for ten minutes was gone. “She’s alone,” Diggle confirmed. “Go.”  
  
And Oliver went. Trusting his equipment – the hook was firmly driven into the concrete, the rope connected to it was sturdy – Oliver jumped down the top of the Queen Consolidated skyscraper. The cold wind tore at him for a few seconds before he reached his destination. Shards flying everywhere, The Hood crashed through the window, rolled over his shoulder, and stood tall in the middle of the room with his bow aiming at the blonde woman scrambling away, her eyes huge from shock.  
  
Her desk chair crashed into the cabinet behind her. The family pictures assembled on top rattled with the impact. One that showed the whole pre-island family fell and shattered to the floor. How fitting. Oliver let go of an arrow, destroying the lamp on the cabinet, reducing the light and the threat of being recognized significantly.  
  
“Moira Queen.” The Hood’s voice was always scary – the computer modulation made sure of that – but right now it had an extra aggressive edge, a threatening, emotional vibe that came from deep within Oliver and that couldn’t be helped. “You have failed this city!”  
  
Moira stared at him with huge eyes. She sank back down into her chair. The Hood’s body was rigid, the arrow in his bow was aimed directly at his mother’s heart, his whole demeanor was threatening, and now he took a step toward her. “What do you know about The Undertaking?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“The Undertaking,” he barked. “Tell me about it.”  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
“I DON’T BELIEVE YOU!”  
  
Moira flinched at his outburst. Oliver had to force himself to keep his bow steady. The Hood couldn’t be seen with shaking hands.  
  
“I can’t tell you,” Moira said, and he saw fear in her eyes, honest fear. “He’ll hurt my family—more than he already has.” Suddenly a spark appeared in his mother’s eyes. Oliver noticed, because he knew the woman opposite him. He loved that woman, no matter what happened, and he felt connected to her, even right now. And he knew that that was throwing him off his game. “But you helped my family,” Moira continued, rising.  
  
“Stand still,” The Hood ordered instantaneously.  
  
Moira obliged, lifting up her hands. “My son, Oliver. You saved him from those kidnappers. My daughter-in-law, you rescued her twice.”  
  
“They are both innocent,” The Hood pressed out. “You _aren’t_.”  
  
Tellingly, she didn’t object. Instead, she urged, “Listen, you need to get out of here. I activated the silent alarm when you came through the window. The security squad needs exactly one minute and twenty seconds to get here.”  
  
That was the absolute truth, Oliver knew. He had had a lengthy – and apparently completely useless – discussion with his mother about all the things that could happen in one minute and twenty seconds.  
  
“It was a reflex, pressing that button,” Moira hurried to defend herself. “But you saved my family and now I’m returning the favor. You need to get out.”  
  
_“You have forty seconds,”_ Diggle’s voice was comfortingly calm in Oliver’s ear. It rooted him in his place.  
  
“Not until you give me some answers,” The Hood growled at Moira Queen. “Who compiled the list?”  
  
Desperately, Moira Queen shook her head. She was fighting an internal war. “I cannot tell you.”  
  
“You’re more scared of him than you are of me?” Slightly adjusting his aim, The Hood let go of the arrow. It pierced a picture of Oliver and his father, shattering the glass and hitting Robert Queen right in the face. That seemed like a clear message. Another arrow was already in place and pointing at the woman standing in front of him with both hands raised. “You shouldn’t be. I’m the one right here.”  
  
“It’s not me I am worried about,” Moira sounded pleading. “I’m a mother. My son, Oliver, you know him. And my daughter, Thea, she’s just a teenager. I’m a wife. My husband was threatened, too. He got my daughter-in-law involved. And she’s too curious for her own good. She’s in danger, too, maybe the most danger. I need to protect them all!”  
  
Oliver’s heart was beating up to his throat. _No_ , he thought, _I’m the one who has to protect you all and you need to finally stop making this more difficult than it has to be._ But he buried that thought deep as Diggle said, with more urgency this time, _“Twenty seconds.”_  
  
“GIVE ME A NAME!” The Hood yelled. “Who compiled the list?” In desperation, Moira shook her head. The Hood added more pressure. “TELL ME! Who’s responsible? Who is HE!”  
  
“Malcolm Merlyn.” Moira practically shouted the name at him. She calmed down in the next second, as if saying it had alleviated some pressure. “Malcolm Merlyn complied the list,” she clarified. “It was his idea, and my husband – my first husband – he got involved. I have to….”  
  
_“You need to get out,”_ Diggle pressed. _“Time’s nearly up.”_  
  
The Hood stared at the woman shaking in front of him. He let the bow sink and gave her a short nod. As the heavy footsteps of the security guards thundered from the hall, The Hood was already jumping out of the 39 th floor window.


	32. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll just go broken-record on you and once again thank you for your overwhelming awesomeness. I fear that repeating this at the beginning of every chapter makes this seem somewhat stale. Please, believe me: I am unbelievably grateful for and constantly awed by your support and your love for this story.
> 
> Also, after reading your comments on the previous chapter I feel like the main lesson learned is: you know the bar for parenting-skills is seriously low when not shooting your son’s collectively counted as a win. ;) Naturally I loved that. Thank you.
> 
> I don’t feel like saying much about this chapter, but **Albiona [I love you, Albi. *hug*]** asked me to include a warning [yes, she called it a _warning_ ] from her. So let me leave you with her words, _“Get the wine and ice cream ready. This one’s gonna hurt.”_

**March 16 th, 2013**  
  
Fear and worry had caused Oliver Queen many sleepless nights.  
  
Since he had moved in with Felicity, it had rarely been his own worrying that had kept him up. Lately it was Felicity’s troubles, like the threat to her company, which made him forego sleep. He’d sat on their couch in the main room, trying to help her make sense of things and find a way to handle the situation. He had suffered though hours at Firestorm without anything to do while Felicity and Tak had worked. He had been there for Felicity, had joined the worrying but it had originated within her.  
  
Finding a home with Felicity had given his mind a distinct sense of ease, an undeniable inner calm that allowed his body to rest peacefully for six undisturbed hours. That was a luxury lost in the previous five years. As long as Felicity lay by his side or, much better, in his arms with her head resting on his chest, he could relax. Her presence, the warmth and weight of her body, her scent and steady breathing grounded him in the here and now and kept the nightmares away.  
  
Last night that had ended. The encounter with his mother had shattered his peace of mind.  
  
Speeding recklessly on his bike, he drove around the city to clear his head, unsuccessfully, until he finally gave in to Diggle’s insistence and headed to the Foundry.  
  
Standing opposite to his partner, words escaped him. Instead, he and Diggle let their fists do the taking. Their sparring session was intense but exactly what Oliver needed. He also needed some more time to grasp what he had learned only a few hours earlier. He needed to figure it out for himself before he could discuss it with his partner—luckily, Diggle had understood that too, and suggested they called it a night.  
  
His phone told him that it was nearly one in the morning by then—and that he had a text from Felicity (I love you. Come home.) and a missed call from Kristina. He ignored the latter, knowing that Kristina would have tried more than once had it been really important, and texted his wife back (I love you. Always). He enjoyed the easiness of typing the words he knew he should say more often.  
  
Felicity stayed up with him the whole night, listened to him rant and reason. She offered insight and comfort, she held his hand and kissed his trembling lips. He was a mess, he knew, but he knew he could be messy with her. He trusted her enough to show her this side of him. He dared to let his guard down completely, because he knew she’d build him back up.  
  
His sleepless night was the only reason why he felt more collected now, more controlled and in charge. It was the only reason he could look John Diggle in the eyes and say, “If the other archer’s working for Merlyn, I have to be smart about engaging him.”  
  
They stood next to Felicity’s empty desk, where the usual trace-programs were visible on her computer screens. Diggle nodded slowly. “I agree. Merlyn’s the more dangerous target.” He crossed his arms over his chest, straightening up. “So, why don’t you try your mother again? It’s obvious—”  
  
“No.” Oliver’s voice was laced with finality. It was a decision made around five in the morning. “I believe that she was telling the truth. I believe that she’s only protecting us, her family. I believe that she’s terrified.”  
  
“Oliver, I know this is difficult for you, but if this were anybody else you’d be hooded up already, pressing for answers about The Undertaking.”  
  
“But this isn’t anybody else. It’s my mother.”  
  
“That doesn’t change the fact that she’s our best angle to—”  
  
“You heard what she said, Digg,” Oliver insisted, anger starting to gather inside him. “She’s scared. I stood in that office with an arrow aimed at her heart and she refused to tell me anything because it endangered her family. I’ve taken down a lot of bad people. None of them ever brought up their kids.”  
  
“And their daughter-in-law,” Diggle added, aiming right for the open wound. “Did you tell Felicity that your mother believes she’s the one in the most danger?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“The fact that my mother called her ‘too curious for her own good’ interested her more.” Oliver dared the barest shrug. “That’s my wife for you.”  
  
“This is serious, Oliver.”  
  
As if he needed to be reminded.  
  
“I’m aware of that,” he snapped at his partner. The gravity of the situation pulled Oliver down, weighing on his body and his mind alike.  
  
Diggle took a step toward the med table, bringing more space between them. “Where’s Felicity now?”  
  
“At the office. Job interviews. Brad’s with her.” Oliver didn’t feel like getting into more detail about that. Leaning against Felicity’s desk, his hands resting on the top, he sighed. “Felicity suggested accessing the Merlyn Global mainframe. She said she’d give it a try later today. I agree with her that gathering information without spooking Merlyn’s our best option for now.”  
  
Diggle didn’t seem convinced. “Did you talk to your mother?”  
  
Realizing that the soldier meant the son in him and not the vigilante, Oliver nodded. “Yes, I called her this morning, told her I heard the news.”  
  
“What did she say?”  
  
“That she was okay—and that The Hood asked questions about my father’s business she couldn’t answer.”  
  
The two men looked at each other and Oliver knew that they were both contemplating the same thing: how much truth did that statement entail?  
  
“Oliver,” Diggle spoke a little softer, signaling that Oliver wouldn’t like what he had to say next, “your mother might not be in charge of it, but she’s definitely involved.”  
  
“We don’t even know what _it_ is,” Oliver shot back. “By confronting my mother, I put her in danger. I told you: I believe her. I believe that there’s a real threat out there to everybody she – _and I_ – hold dear. And until we know what that threat is, she’s off limits!”  
  
“Do you really believe that? Or do you just want to believe it?”  
  
“I—” The ringing of his telephone cut Oliver off—or, rather, he gladly let himself be cut off, because he didn’t know if the answer he had been about to give would have been the honest truth. Quickly, he pulled his cell out of pocket. The name blinking in the display caused him to frown with a dark sense of foreboding. “Yes?”  
  
_“Mr. Queen, this is Jerry Conway.”_  
  
Never would Felicity’s EA call Oliver by his first name. But he had also only called Oliver once before to remind him of Valentine’s Day—which was why Oliver had a bad feeling about this. “Yes, Jerry. What’s up?”  
  
_“It’s Felicity, she left the office one hour ago and never came back. The applicants are waiting, and this isn’t like her_.”  
  
It really wasn’t. Oliver pushed himself off the desk, his back stiffening. “Did she take Brad with her?”  
  
_“Yes. But her cellphone is off, and I don’t have Brad’s number.”_  
  
“Felicity’s cell’s off?” That had only happened once, when she had found a wreck in a warehouse and painted a huge target on her back. “I’ll contact Brad. Thanks, Jerry.” Not waiting for an answer, Oliver ended the call.  
  
“What’s going on?” Diggle asked.  
  
“I’m not sure,” Oliver answered. He was scrolling through his contacts for Brad Foster’s number when his cell buzzed again. He quickly answered, “Kristina, I can’t talk right now, I—”  
  
_“No prob, Hubby, we’ll make this quick.”_ He should have known that his wife’s best friend wouldn’t let him cut this short and her off. He should have just declined the call. Instead, he heard Kristina ask, _“How bad was yesterday?”_  
  
A cold shiver raced through Oliver before reason hit him over the head. Tina couldn’t know that he had confronted his mother yesterday. She couldn’t be referring to that because she had no idea. Sadly, that also meant that he didn’t have the slightest idea what she was talking about. “What?”  
  
_“Yesterday.”_ Kristina repeated as if that explained anything.  
  
“What about yesterday?”  
  
_“Yesterday was the 15 th.”_ She started to sound wary. _“March 15 th. The day Felicity gave birth to Jonas. You went to his grave together. Didn’t you?”  
  
_All blood rushed to Oliver’s feet as he stood in the Foundry feeling like the world shook around him. His heart rate spiked. He had to close his eyes as the heaviness of the situation seemed to overwhelm him.  
  
A forceful _“Didn’t you?!”_ hit his ears from the receiver but Oliver couldn’t answer. All he could do was exhale in one long measured breath.  
  
_“Oliver?”_ Kristina urged.  
  
“We didn’t.”  
  
_“You didn’t?”_  
  
“We forgot.”  
  
_“Oh my God.”_ Kristina gasped. They were quiet on both ends of the telephone connection, both grasping what this meant and trying to come to terms with it.  
  
Oliver was still rooted to his spot with his eyes closed. He felt Diggle approach him carefully, full of tension and ready to spring into action.  
  
_“I knew I should have called you again,”_ Kristina ended the telephone silence. _“But when you didn’t answer yesterday, I figured you were with Felicity. I mean, that date is burned into her brain. She always goes MIA on the 15 th. Since that first anniversary, it’s her day; she wants to be alone. I figured this year she’d want to be alone with you. I thought about bringing it up last Saturday, during our girl’s night, but it didn’t fit. She was so happy; I didn’t want to ruin the mood. I was selfish. I should have reminded her.”  
  
_“Kristina,” Oliver stopped the ramble that held traces of Felicity, “this is not your fault. We had a family emergency yesterday....” His face twisted in anger as only one thought filled his mind. “FUCK!”  
  
_“I’ll call her. I only called you to make sure it wasn’t too bad for you. Felicity gets intense—”_  
  
“Her cell’s off,” Oliver cut in. “But I’ll find her. I’ll talk to her. I’ll handle this.”  
  
_“Are you sure?”_  
  
“Absolutely. Don’t worry.”  
  
_“Not a chance.”_ Tina sighed. _“Please let me know how it goes.”_  
  
“I will. Bye,” he ended the call. “We need to trace Felicity.”  
  
Instantly, Diggle stepped closer to him, an unasked question shining from his face.  
  
Oliver needed another second before he could explain. “You know that Felicity was pregnant when I disappeared?” It was a stupid question, everybody knew. Still, Diggle gave a nod and Oliver continued, “The baby died and....” He didn’t really know how to say it, because the sentence that danced on the tip of his tongue, the sentence he had breathed out in shock during his and Felicity’s first bonding dinner, wouldn’t let itself be formed. But this was John Diggle, the man he trusted with all aspects of his life, so he said, “The day she gave birth to him’s important to her. That date was yesterday.”  
  
It took a second but then compassion filled John Diggle’s features. The expression in his eyes, the seriousness on his face proved to Oliver that his partner understood. Snapping into action, he reached for his own cell. “She took Brad?”  
  
“Ye—” For the third time in five minutes, Oliver’s phone rang. Looking at the display, seeing the picture visible there, all the information he had stored in different parts of his mind grouped together. Immediately, Oliver knew where Felicity was and he knew that he should have known before, would have known before if he hadn’t given in to panic. He pressed the green button forcefully. “Mom.”  
  
Moira Queen’s voice was soft and still a clear order. _“You need to come here.”_  
  
“I’m on my way.”  
  
________________________________________________  
  
  
Awkwardness and sympathy mixed on Brad Foster’s face, combining to an unlikely pair that spoke volumes to Oliver as he stepped past Felicity’s bodyguard into the foyer of Queen Mansion. The marine gave his boss a curt nod, but avoided his eyes. “Mr. Queen.” Whatever the veteran with the missing right thumb had witnessed today had certainly left him uneasy.  
  
“Oliver,” Moira Queen stepped into the hall. His mother was wearing her casual clothes, which meant that she was impeccably styled with black pants, a long woolen jacket that nearly fell down to her feet, and kitten heels. Oliver didn’t know why he noticed that, but somehow his mother being put together after everything that happened yesterday and today grounded him. Gently she looked at her son. “She’s outside.”  
  
Nodding, Oliver sent Foster a quick glance. “You can take the rest of the day off.”  
  
Already crossing the hall, a “sir” filled with acknowledgement reached Oliver’s ears. He walked past his mother, wordlessly taking the box of tissues she held out to him.  
  
His steps feigned a confidence he didn’t feel. Uneasiness claimed him, doubts filled him to the brink, because he didn’t know what to expect, didn’t know what to do, didn’t know if he was able to be what Felicity needed right now. Squaring his shoulders, tightening his jaw, he walked through the living room and to the huge glass doors leading to the park stretching out behind the mansion. Not letting himself hesitate or slow down, he stepped onto the perfectly kept lawn and walked toward where he knew Felicity was.  
  
The graves of his father and Jonas lay behind a group of trees. Their thick trunks blocked his view, but he marched purposely—until he passed the trees. The scene stopped him dead in his tracks. His eyes were glued to the figure in the deep red dress, sitting on the bright green grass in front of the smaller of the two tombstones, her hand resting on the marble. She looked so tiny and fragile, her body trembling, her shoulders shaking in a way that told him she was crying heavily. The sight tore at his heart while it screamed a clear message at him: he couldn’t approach this like a battle.  
  
His shoulders, his muscles relaxed as he continued walking toward her, the aggressiveness leaking from his movements. He had nearly reached her when she turned to him. Meeting her eyes, seeing the anguish on her face unsettled him. The sparkle usually lighting up her eyes was gone. They looked empty, and reddened from the tears flowing down her cheeks, taking her mascara with them, intensifying the shadows under her eyes created by a sleepless night mixing with sorrow. Her nose was running and her voice was hoarse as she said, “I forgot.”  
  
“I know,” he breathed and hated the words leaving his mouth when he saw her reaction to them: she lowered her head and cried harder. He sank down next to her, let the tissues drop to the grass next to where she had placed her glasses, and pulled her to him. His arms closed around her, holding her to him tightly, cradling her in his embrace. She clung to him, her hands fisting his sweater, her body shaking with her sobs.  
  
Never had he seen her like this. Not when she had been shot at, not when she had been kidnapped, not when she had found out he was the vigilante, not when her company had been close to bankruptcy. She was falling apart in his arms and all he could so was hold on.  
  
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, because it was the only thing that came to him. His mind was empty as emotions – hers, his own – mixed and crashed down on him, leaving him helpless. He kissed the top of her head, tightening his hold on her, and let her cry. It was all her could do.  
  
Dark clouds piled up above them, edged forward by the wind that brushed through the trees around them, causing the leaves to rustle. The setting was strangely fitting, the chill of the wind, the threat of rain, the cold slowly seeping into their bones.  
  
Oliver didn’t know exactly how long they sat there – his arms wrapped around her, his hand rubbing comforting circles on her back, she clinging to him, her tears wetting his sweater – until finally Felicity’s weak voice sounded from his chest. “I forgot,” she repeated.  
  
Deciding to go a different conversational road, Oliver tried to make the failure mutual. “I did, too.”  
  
His attempted failed. Letting go of him, she objected, “You don’t need to remember, but I do.” Her voice was vibrating with unshed tears and raspy from the tears she had already shed, and changed by her stuffed nose.  
  
Wordlessly, Oliver reached for the box of tissues and held it out to her. She took one, blew her nose, and took another. His hand rested on her thigh while wracking his brain for something smart, something helpful, something comforting to say.  
  
Felicity looked back at the tombstone. Her fingers traced the engraving, the letters carved into the marble. Following the curve of the J, she said softly, “He’d be five by now. Five years old.... You know, during the pregnancy.... I didn’t particularly enjoy it. The morning sickness. Everything tasted disgusting. And the hormones really messed me up. I was a train wreck. You’re lucky you were far away from me—even on that island.... But I was looking forward to being a mother, getting to know Jonas. I was so curious to meet him, find out what he liked, if he’d be into math like me or if he’d drive me crazy by liking sports. I hoped he’d get your eyes, because in Vegas I thought you had really pretty eyes. I mean... I still think that, but back then it was one good thing I remembered about you.” Her fingers caressed the S and she smiled sadly. “I got way, waaay ahead of myself, dreaming up what it would be like going to school plays.” She laughed humorlessly. “It was stupid. To get that carried away. But it happened. And then it all imploded. Just like that, all that I’d dreamt up and that felt was within reach escaped me. I was left with nothing but wishful thinking.”  
  
She cried quietly, silent tears spilling out of her eyes. Oliver’s heart broke for her. He reached for her hand, cradling it in his own. He hated that the sadness he felt didn’t match her sadness, that he couldn’t fully mourn with her, that he might share her loss on paper but not emotionally, not as deeply as she did. He understood the pain she felt, could imagine the defeat of imploding hopes, but he didn’t feel it himself, not the way she did. But he wanted to be here, help her through it, give her new hope. Awkwardly, he bit his lower lip.  
  
“Five years,” Felicity whispered. “The first school plays would be close. Probably football practice, too. Yeah, knowing you, there’d definitely be football practice—if he had gotten your aim.”  
  
Oliver couldn’t help the snort that escaped him. It was just like her to say something like that. The hints of amusement vanished when she faced Oliver.  
  
“I forgot him.” She shook her head, aggravated, before her red, tired eyes met his. “I’m in a better place since you came back, I’m happy with you—and despite all the shit that’s going on that’s really saying a lot. I mean all of that holds the potential for disaster, but we aren’t. A disaster, I mean. We’re good, a miracle. But what does it say about me that I’m good and instantly I forget about Jonas? A mothe—”  
  
“Hey, hey. No!” He cut her off, his right hand letting go of hers to cup her cheek. His eyes drilled into her, forcing her to look at him and see the truth. “You didn’t forget about him. How could you? He’s a part of you, Felicity. Having him in your life, losing him, it turned you into the person you are.” His thumb brushed over her skin, wetted by her tears. “Do you remember when you told me that all the experiences I had to go through turned me into the person you love?” She nodded, leaning against his fingers slightly. The barest smile ghosted around the corners of his mouth. “The same is true for you. Jonas turned you into the person I love more than anything.” His thumb stopped its caress as he looked at her intently. “You forgot a date, Felicity. On a day that was intense. After a week that was intense. With Thea and my mother and work and everything. That doesn’t turn you into a bad person, or a bad _mother_.”  
  
Slowly she nodded before looking at him, traces of the sparkle he knew so well visible in her eyes. “Everything—does that include you?”  
  
“If I’m everything?” He tilted his head a little. “I hope so.”  
  
She laughed through her tears. “Well done.” Her hand squeezed his left that was still holding hers. “And true,” she said seriously, “You are everything to me.”  
  
His heart did a jump in his chest as a tingle raced through him that was pure joyful love. Needing an outlet, he gently brought his lips to hers. It was a tender touch, a delicate connection. It was wordless assurance of everything he need to express. Nearly reluctantly, he ended the kiss. Keeping his face close to hers, linking his eyes with hers, he said, “I know that Jonas is with you everywhere you go. You’ll never forget him. And neither will I, Felicity.”  
  
A raindrop hit his forehead. Big and heavy it splashed onto his skin, followed by another and another. He didn’t let this distract him, his attention didn’t waver from her, his eyes were glued to her. Now she placed her hand over his resting on her cheek. She sent him a small smile. “Thank you.”  
  
“Anything. Anytime,” he said emphatically. The drops came faster now. “Are you ready to go in?”  
  
She nodded. “Yes, let’s.” She reached for her glasses and the tissues. Dabbing her eyes, she got up from the ground. Together they walked back to the mansion, his arm around her, his hand squeezing her shoulder. They stepped inside the living room just as the clouds unloaded their wet cargo in earnest. A curtain of raindrops fell down outside the glass door Oliver closed quickly.  
  
Moira Queen stood by the coffee table in the living room, her eyes set on Felicity, a sad smile on her face. She spared herself the questions of how Felicity was feeling, how she was holding up. Looking at his mother, Oliver was sure that she knew the answers to both questions. Instead, she gestured to the plush couch with the floral décor. “Please, sit.”  
  
It wasn’t a question, it was an order disguised as politeness. Felicity and Oliver followed the request. Sitting next to each other, they looked up at Moira, who hadn’t moved. To Oliver it seemed like his mother needed a moment to collect herself until she sat on the couch opposite them. “Felicity,” she said and held an envelope out to her, “this belongs to you.”  
  
Felicity hesitated for a second before she reached for it. The flap of the envelope was only loosely tucked in and easy to open. Felicity did, but stopped mid-movement. Oliver felt a tremor rush through her body before she hesitantly reached into the envelope. Seeing the small stack of photos she retrieved from it, Oliver froze, too. All he could do was stare at what Felicity had in hand while she whispered, “I thought I lost them when I moved out of Tina’s, back to MIT.”  
  
“I took them,” Moira admitted. “All you did was lay in bed and look at them, crying. I’m sorry. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”  
  
The thought that that reasoning – this twisted version of protection – was typical of his mother entered Oliver’s mind but didn’t really register as his sole attention was fixed on the top photo in Felicity’s hand. On autopilot he reached for it. He couldn’t believe this, couldn’t really grasp what he saw: Felicity – a younger, softer, brunette version of the woman sitting next to him – on a bed, covered with a hospital robe, looking exhausted and in awe at the same time. She didn’t look at the camera but at the tiny baby she had in her arms.  
  
Oliver had never really dared to imagine what Jonas had looked like, because he didn’t have the slightest idea what a human born months before his time looked like. He didn’t really know what he had expected, something more surreal maybe, something more... unfinished.  
  
He was such an idiot.  
  
His eyes snapped to Felicity. “He was beautiful.”  
  
“Yes, he was.” She handed him another picture. It was just of Jonas. Oliver studied it closely, studied this baby, studied his baby, his son he had never had the fortune to meet. In the photo Felicity’s hand cradled the infant and it was proof that he had indeed been tiny.  
  
“Moira, you always said he had Oliver’s nose,” Felicity said as she scooted closer to Oliver and placed her left hand on his back. “You’re right. I see it now.”  
  
“Yes, the Queen nose,” Moira smiled. “Robert always claimed it was a distinguished feature of Queen men.”  
  
The women shared a small laugh, but Oliver couldn’t join in, because he saw it, too. He found traces of himself in that baby boy—and suddenly everything he had never had and still lost hit him like a house of bricks. Felicity’s right hand came to rest on his thigh. He didn’t know how she knew, but her comforting squeeze was exactly what he needed.  
  
“What’s going on here?” Thea’s voice came from the door, but Oliver couldn’t bring himself to look at her, couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes away from the photo.  
  
“We’re looking at pictures of Jonas,” Moira explained.  
  
Thea gasped, nearly swallowing the chewing gum in her mouth. “Oh God, it’s the 15 th?”  
  
“No,” Moira said gently, “it’s the 16th.”  
  
The silence that followed showed Oliver that his sister understood. The point was probably driven home by Felicity’s swollen eyes surrounded by traces of mascara.  
  
He felt Thea cross the room and crouch down next to where he sat on the couch. “I never knew there were pictures,” she spoke up. “Can I have a look?”  
  
Oliver turned the photo toward her. Carefully, she took it. “He was so cute. God, so perfect.” She saw the other picture Oliver held. “Oh,” she said, “brunette Felicity. I blocked that out.” She took that picture, too, and studied it closely while forcefully chewing her gum. Finally, she placed her attention on Felicity, “Wow, you looked exhausted. Was birth hard?”  
  
Moira and Felicity shared at look. “Well, he was tiny. That made things easier,” Felicity answered carefully.  
  
“But Felicity’s pelvis hadn’t opened yet, because it was so early. That made it harder,” Moira said, her voice tense. “He nearly got stuck.” Her tone filled with dim accusation as she looked at Felicity. “I told you, you should’ve gotten a C-section.”  
  
The sigh that preceded Felicity’s vocal answer showed Oliver that this was a familiar argument. “I wanted to give birth to him. I needed to push him out. Okay, that sounds worse than I meant it to. I didn’t mean like push out like push away. Even though, of course, I had to push. I just needed to actively do it and get him out— Okay, I can’t find a way to make that sound good.”  
  
“It makes sense.” Thea said, smacking her gum. “Getting him out by your own actions. I don’t think that’s bad.” She motioned to the stack of pictures in Felicity’s hand. “What else’s in there?”  
  
“Ultrasound pictures.”  
  
Silently, Oliver followed the conversation of the females around him while his heart was heavy and light at the same time, filled with love that was familiar and new alike. He listened to Felicity explaining the ultrasound pictures, carved every little detail into his memory, filed every answer Felicity gave to every question Thea asked, memorized the anecdotes Felicity and Moira shared and the ones that made them laugh. He observed everything closely, unable to actively participate, busy sorting through all the different emotions these hours had awoke in him.  
  
Finally, Felicity’s hand rested on his cheek. Gently, she asked, “Are you okay?”  
  
The tears clogging up his throat, that had kept him from saying even one word, swelled up and made his vision swim. He bit his lip as he tried to decide on the honest reaction to this yes-or-no question. Both answers were the absolute truth, both were a lie. The reality lay in the middle, because, “Our son’s dead. And I only just understood what that means.”  
  
“You never called him that,” Felicity breathed, then clarified, “Our son.”  
  
Oliver inhaled audibly. “Well, he was. We made him.” In her tiny bed, underneath the shelves filled with math trophies and a Harry Potter poster, they had combined a little bit of her and of him.  
  
And suddenly he knew the answer to a question he had accidentally raised for himself weeks ago without really daring to find an answer. Coming face to face with Ray Palmer had made Oliver wonder if giving Felicity Jonas had been a good or a bad thing. Right now he knew: despite all the pain, the heartache, and the shattering of dreams, Jonas could never be anything but a good thing, the best thing.  
  
“You can make another one.” Seeing the six eyes that snapped to her, Thea raised her hands slightly, rolling her gum in her mouth. “I don’t meant it, like, replace Jonas. It’s just.... Come on, you know what I mean. You could have another baby.”  
  
“We...” Felicity seemed uneasy suddenly, “...never talked about… that.”  
  
“No,” Oliver agreed, “we never did.” He sounded calm and collected, because he was, because he was sure about what he said next. “But I want to start a family with you, one that grows bigger than Jonas.”  
  
“You do?” Felicity asked, hope in her eyes.  
  
“I do,” he confirmed, but felt like adding restrictions, “when things are... settled. I mean, I just came back....”  
  
“I know,” Felicity smiled and he knew that she understood everything he wasn’t saying—it started with his list continued with The Undertaking and ended with the fact that they were rushing things enough as it was. “I agree.”  
  
“Oh God,” Thea faked annoyance. “They’ll have handsome, smart babies.”  
  
“They will,” Moira confirmed. Oliver was surprised to see the emotions crossing his mother’s face, her eyes unusually moist. She smiled. “Maybe after everything this family had to suffer, good things are finally coming our way.”  
  
Thea huffed. “It’s definitely time!”  
  
Oliver placed a kiss on Felicity’s cheek and couldn’t help but think that something good had already come to him.


	33. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be perfectly honest with you: your reactions to the previous chapter overwhelmed me a little—and I mean that in the best way possible. I was perfectly fine writing Oliver and Felicity working through all those emotions, but some of your reviews really had me tearing up. I am awed and overjoyed that so many of you could relate to the situation and the emotions described, that all of this spoke to you, sometimes on a personal level. Some of you shared very personal thoughts and experiences with me; it was a humbling experience. It was truly special and I thank you with all my heart.
> 
> Since the last chapter was so emotionally heavy [I realized that making people cry makes me very awkward. It felt like a compliment while I disliked the thought of making somebody (aka. nearly everybody) sad. It was… ambivalent, weird, but still not in the worst way.], I feel like we need so slowly ease of the day. But, let’s be honest, we have some plot-moving to do, so let’s get to both. I hope you enjoy.
> 
>  **Albiona** = love. Thank you.

**March 16 th, 2013**  
  
The exhaustion claiming Felicity was all-embracing. Her body was tired from the lack of sleep, her eyes were tired from crying, the emotional overload tired her out mentally. But at the same time there was a distant restlessness roaming inside her. She knew that even though she needed it, she couldn’t find sleep just yet. After spending hours at Queen Mansion, talking about Jonas, remembering him, telling Oliver about their son, she felt restless. Her heart felt lighter and heavier at the same time, emotions filling her to the brink. Reliving pregnancy and birth was difficult but also freeing—and connecting. A new, deeper understanding connected her to Oliver and despite all the horrible aspects of this day that was a very good thing.  
  
“Here.” Oliver’s soft voice caused Felicity to open her burning eyes and lift her head, resting back against the couch in their main room. He sat down next to her and held a tumbler out to her. Taking it, a surprised frown on her face, she watched him pour a finger of translucent liquid into her and then his glass. “I need a drink,” he stated. “I rarely do, but tonight’s one of those times.”  
  
Felicity nodded and watched him put the bottle onto the coffee table.  
  
He raised his glass and she followed his example. “Прочность,” he toasted and they clicked glasses. Both took a huge gulp. Felicity felt the strong liquor run down her throat, leaving a hot trail going down to her stomach where it spread warmth. As she always did, she coughed a little.  
  
Holding on to her glass, she looked at him. “What does that mean? Prochnost?”  
  
He smiled at her (most likely awful) pronunciation and translated, “Strength.”  
  
“Oh,” Felicity nodded. “That’s always good. We can use that.” She thought for a second and glanced at the clock. It was only seven in the evening, enough time to go the Foundry and keep her promise. But the thought of getting up and dressed again didn’t appeal to her at all. She sighed. “I know I said I’d try to hack Merlyn Glo—”  
  
“Hey,” he cut her off by taking her hand, “that’s not important right now.”  
  
“It isn’t?”  
  
“It isn’t,” Oliver confirmed and hesitated shortly before continuing, “While you were in the shower, Kristina called. I kind of forgot to keep her updated like she asked. She’s not happy with me.”  
  
Felicity could imagine what Kristina not being happy meant. She nodded slightly. “She’s on her way over, isn’t she?”  
  
“She is. I thought you’d appreciate her company, but if you’d rather be alone I’ll call the front desk and tell them not to let her up.” Seeing the expression crossing her face, he added, “And I’ll take the blame for it.”  
  
A chuckle escaped Felicity. “Oliver Queen, you’re such a brave man.”  
  
“Might be the most dangerous thing I ever did,” he teased and tightened his grip on her hand. “We can spend the evening any way you like. But Kristina was there for you during your birth and the time after, she made it very clear that she wants to be there for you today, too. And I think she might be more helpful to you than I am.”  
  
“Are you crazy?” The question fell from Felicity’s lips before she could stop it. “You were amazing today.”  
  
The compliment brought a smile to his lips. She could see how much he enjoyed it, appreciated it. Tenderly, she kissed him. “But I think you’re right: there’s been enough crying for one day.”  
  
Slowly, Oliver nodded. “Diggle also called and asked to come over. Are you okay with that?”  
  
Subconsciously, Felicity’s hands moved to her hair, still slightly wet from the shower. She wore sweatpants and a shirt and she knew she looked horrible, her face puffy from crying, her eyes swollen. “I’m not dressed for company.”  
  
“Felicity,” he said earnestly. “This isn’t one of my mother’s dinner parties. It’s our friends coming over, because they want to make sure you’re okay. They want to show they care. You’re perfectly dressed for the occasion and you’re beautiful.”  
  
The doorbell rang and Oliver looked at her questioningly. “Do you want me to send them away?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Pecking her cheek, Oliver got up from the couch. When he returned John Diggle was with him, a huge pizza box in hand. He sent Felicity a warm smile. “I heard pepperoni pizza was the best comfort food.”  
  
It was. In the weeks Felicity had holed up with Kristina, the girls had lived on pizza—before Felicity had stumbled across the fat-shaming comments on the internet blogs and adapted Moira Queen’s insight on proper nutrition and staying a size two. “It is,” Felicity admitted, just as the doorbell sounded again.  
  
“Then it’s perfect for a hood-free evening with friends, to come down and relax a little,” Oliver stated. “We have the weekend off.”  
  
Felicity startled into staring behind him as he went to open the door. Had she heard him correctly? She had expected a free evening and getting back to Hood-work tomorrow, because everything else felt like wasting time. In disbelief, she looked at John, who put the box onto the coffee table. “We have the weekend off? This is the worst time to hang up his hood.”  
  
“No,” John objected. “It’s the best time.” He looked at her. “Napkins?”  
  
“I’ll get them,” Oliver said reentering the room, followed by Kristina who rushed over to the couch and Felicity. Without a word Tina hugged her friend. For a long moment the women simply held each other.  
  
Oliver’s voice came from the kitchen, “Wine?”  
  
“No,” Felicity answered. “Diet coke, please.”  
  
“Me, too,” Kristina said. “I have to work tomorrow.” Tilting her head, she looked at her best friend, “So. Moira took the photos?”  
  
“She did.”  
  
Taking the slice of pizza John offered her, Kristina sighed. “That’s a bold move right there. To be honest, I thought about it, but didn’t dare to. Because – no offense, Queens – I have a heart and don’t take stuff from other people that’s important to them—even if that stuff enables compulsive behavior.”  
  
“It wasn’t that bad!”  
  
“It was. It was worse. You were better off without those pictures.” She took a huge bite and spoke around the pizza, “Not that I approve of Moira’s methods, but I approve of the result.”  
  
“What pictures?” John asked. Oliver, who sat next to him on the other couch, reached behind himself to the shelf where the envelope lay and handed it to his partner.  
  
A smile spread over John’s face as he looked at them. His reaction brought a certain warmth to roam through Felicity. She had feared that this would be awkward, but it wasn’t. It felt right, sharing this with John, being here with their friends, with two people who knew them better than anybody else. Letting her eyes trail to Oliver, she wondered when her PTSD husband had gained such emotional insight. Their eyes met and she sent him a silent thank you.  
  
“Talking about photos,” Tina stuffed the rest of her pizza slice into her mouth (it was too huge, which turned chewing into a struggle), wiped her hands off on her jeans, and plucked her purse off the floor. Taking another photo out, she showed it to Felicity but held it out for Oliver to take.  
  
Felicity saw the emotion in his eyes as he studied the snapshot Kristina had taken of her during one of their first meetings: Felicity remembered how Kristina dragged her to this Lamaze class, claiming that she needed to learn how to breathe. Felicity had been of the strong opinion that breathing came kind of naturally to her, but she had jumped on the opportunity to get out of Queen Mansion. That stupid class with those ridiculous exercises and overexcited couples had been the starting-point of the women’s friendship.  
  
The image showed Felicity sitting on a fitness ball, dressed in a tank top that couldn’t cover her belly. She had been around the 25th week. The way Oliver pressed his lips together told Felicity that he was searching for something to say. He had struggled with words quite a few times today—only to ultimately find the perfect things to say to her. He had been wonderful, nothing but perfect, and she knew that now he needed her help escaping his own emotional turmoil.  
  
“If your mother saw that picture she’d freak,” she said, lightly. “That bared belly would have been a nightmare to her. She even hired a stylist for me.”  
  
Kristina chuckled and said in a stupidly changed voice. “Felicity, being pregnant doesn’t give you an excuse to dress sloppily. There are ways to look your best.”  
  
“That meant hiding the belly.” Felicity shook her head and motioned to the photo Oliver still had in hand, “But I like that picture.”  
  
“I do, too,” Oliver admitted, finding his voice. He looked at Kristina, “Can I keep it?”  
  
“Sure, all yours,” she grabbed another pizza slice. “You know, I need to stop talking shit about your mother, Hubby. She’s kinda my boss now. And she did a great thing with the RQM.”  
  
“Do you like working there?” John asked and Felicity finally reached for a slice of pizza, too.  
  
“It’s awesome,” Kristina gushed, but backtracked mentally almost instantly. “As awesome as being confronted with all that poverty can be. The Glades are really fucked up. Seriously, that’s the only way to say it. Every day we see multiple gunshot victims. There are the addicts and the girls all beat up who run right back to their asshole men, the prostitutes—many underage who disappear before the cops show up.” She smiled despite that. “But it feels like I’m helping them, like I’m doing something good and that’s nice.”  
  
“You are helping them, Tina,” Felicity stressed. “You’re doing something good for that part of the city. Hands-on work. That’s amazing.”  
  
“Yeah,” Kristina agreed, “it is.” Then her eyes lit up, “Oh! And I met a guy.”  
  
That was Oliver’s cue to reach for the TV remote, switching on a football game and nearly muting it. He and Diggle settled back on their couch and placed their attention on the screen.  
  
Felicity bit back a laugh. Kristina playfully shook her head in mock consternation. “Okay, that’s offensive.”  
  
“I’m all ears,” Felicity said and took a bite of her pizza.  
  
“His name’s Marcus. He’s a cop. He comes by every day with some dirty kid. He really cares about people, never makes one degrading comment, unlike his colleagues.”  
  
“Sounds like he’s a nice guy,” Felicity offered.  
  
“He is. And he’s so shy. I know he wants to ask me out, but he hasn’t worked up to it yet. I thought about asking him out, but I get the feeling that that might spook him. So, I’ve decided to give him another week.”  
  
“Good plan.”  
  
“He’s such a cliché. Of a cop, I mean. He loves donuts. He has a little tummy,” Kristina hesitated and added as if it were a dirty secret, “And I _like_ it.”  
  
Felicity couldn’t help it; a loud and honest laugh fled from her lips. Turns out she should stop doubting Oliver: a causal evening among friends was the perfect way to end this day. Because life continues. Because they were looking to a future full of possibilities. Because there was hope, love, friendship, and laughter. And it was good to be reminded of that.  
  
___________________________________________________  
  
  
Felicity didn’t mind being uncool one bit.  
  
It was only ten on a Saturday night. The cool people of Starling City were just getting ready to party. Felicity was perfectly content to lie in bed, her head resting on Oliver’s naked chest, his arm around her, her fingertip trailing invisible circles over his skin. Her body felt heavy from the utter exhaustion claiming her, but she knew that she couldn’t sleep if she didn’t ask a question that had popped up this afternoon. She turned her head to look up at him. “Can I ask you something?” She frowned. “And don’t say that I just did. Because you know that I want to ask you something else. So, can I ask you another question?”  
  
Hints of a smile played around his lips as he hummed a positive, “Hmm.”  
  
“During the five years you were away… did you ever think about me?” Suddenly she felt self-conscious asking and couldn’t stop herself from adding more words. “‘Cause, naturally, I thought of you. A lot. In the beginning. During pregnancy. With your mother and Thea telling me about you all the time. And with hoping Jonas would get your eyes. Praying he wouldn’t turn out a douche—”  
  
The laughter he suppressed caused his chest to vibrate underneath her. “I see you only thought the best of me back then.”  
  
Felicity’s fingers traced his Bratva tattoo. “Did you think of me when you were on the island?”  
  
“No,” he answered and she felt herself deflate a little. She hadn’t expected to be on his mind as much as he had been on hers, but at least one stray thought would have been nice. She was digging her brain for an adequately casual answer when Oliver continued talking, “Not on the island. But in Hong Kong.” He paused shortly before adding, “Actually, I’ve been thinking a lot recently about my time there.”  
  
“You did? You have?” She asked and referred to both: thinking about her and his time in the Chinese enclave. Lifting her head, propping herself up a little, she looked at him.  
  
Oliver inhaled deeply and audibly. Felicity knew that whatever he would say next was emotionally revealing for him. He always did that. As if gathering strength to get something out that might leave him vulnerable in the emotional sense, he sucked air in—as opposed to when he measuredly exhaled, which was the equivalent of getting bad feelings out. Both let him function enough to keep from hurting other people in the actual and figurative senses.  
  
“I stayed with a married couple there, Maseo and his wife, Tatsu. She forced me to do my own laundry, by the way.”  
  
“I take it you didn’t wear much silk.”  
  
The corners of Oliver’s mouth only curved upwards the barest bit, signaling to Felicity that his tale was too heavy for him to allow any lightness. “No, she didn’t…. They took me in—they didn’t have any other choice, it’s a long story, but... I lived with them. They had a son, Akio.”  
  
Felicity hardly dared to ask, “Had?”  
  
“He died while I was there.”  
  
The way he pressed that sentence out made it clear that he didn’t want to get into any details, but she couldn’t keep from saying, “No wonder you’ve been thinking about them lately.”  
  
“Yes,” he confirmed. “Anyway, in the beginning Tatsu didn’t like having me in her home. And at one point she asked me what I knew about commitment and being married and... your face popped up. I know it’s not the most romantic thing, but... I never really forgot you either.”  
  
There was so much awkwardness and unease on his face that Felicity decided to spare him. She placed a kiss on his cheek and rested her head back on his chest. “That’s enough for me.”  
  
Her fingertips started moving again, sliding over the three parallel scars below his tattoo. She knew that there was so much more that he wasn’t telling her. She knew because even though he had gotten a glimpse today, she had omitted a lot, too. Like the fact that Jonas getting stuck in her not-ready-yet pelvis had been a big deal during birth. The doctor and Kristina, her nurse during labor, had tried to hide it, but it had been serious. It had also made the whole birthing experience even more intense, with them both pulling, trying to somehow get Jonas out. It hadn’t been smooth and freeing as Felicity had hoped, it had been strangely forceful and somehow ugly. That was nothing you told a guy who was only starting to grasp that he had had a baby. You didn’t unload that on him.  
  
So, what didn’t Oliver unload on her? He had told her he had been trained to become an assassin in Hong Kong. How did that fit in with living with a family, with a little boy? That didn’t seem exactly reasonable to Felicity. How old had Akio been, she wondered, and how had he died? Why had he died? She—  
  
“I can feel you over thinking this.”  
  
Ripped out of her thoughts by Oliver’s calm statement, she glanced back up at him. “What?”  
  
“I told Tatsu I was married—to shut her up mostly. And she asked what you were like. I told her about your math trophies. First time I ever bragged by mentioning a girl’s brain.”  
  
Even though he’d obviously misinterpreted her silence and the things she’d contemplated, Felicity couldn’t help it: she laughed.  
  
Oliver smirked. “Back then I was still somewhat of a douche, but my time in Hong Kong ended that, for good.” He played with her blonde hair. “I also told her you were pretty, brunette. That you had a tendency to talk too much too quickly—and that was basically all I remembered about you. Coincidently, that was only a few days after I saw Tommy.”  
  
“What?” Lifting her head she looked at him closely. “You saw Tommy? In Hong Kong?”  
  
“He was supposed to be my first target.”  
  
“Target, wh—” She gawked at him and remembered the assassin training. “You were supposed to kill him?”  
  
“Didn’t do it, though.”  
  
“Yeah, I kind of figured that with him being ali—” She stopped. Talking, moving, breathing, she stopped it all for a second. In awe, she whispered with sudden certainty, “That’s what you meant at your welcome home party. When you told Tommy that, if you were him, you’d be happy to be alive.” That sentence had edged itself into her brain. It had rung so strangely in her ears that she could never forget the sound of it. And now it suddenly made sense. “You literally meant that he was lucky. Lucky you didn’t kill him.”  
  
She felt Oliver tense next to her. He exhaled forcefully. “Yes,” he admitted, “I did.”  
  
Felicity shook her head, her palm resting flat above his heart. “They wanted you to kill your best friend. That’s... sick. Really fucked up.”  
  
He nodded and said nothing. Instead, he lay there, staring up at the ceiling, lost in his own thoughts, a sad frown on his face.  
  
Felicity watched him for a moment longer, brought her lips to his, and kissed him. “I love you. You’re a good man.” Before he could object – and she knew without a doubt that he wanted to – she said, “Shut up, you are.” She could practically feel the breath catch in his throat. She added a smile, continuing, “You were perfect today. Thank you.”  
  
His face was laced with uncounted emotions as he brought his hand up to brush the hair out of her face. “You’re my wife, Felicity. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”  
  
She stared down at him and for once she had nothing to say. She could only smile at him and accept that sentence, which would be an empty phrase uttered by anybody else but turned into a promise when Oliver said it. Accepting it, thanking him, she kissed him.  
  
After one last smile, Felicity rested her head back on his chest. She closed her eyes and listened to his heartbeat. She felt and heard his voice when he whispered, only a few seconds later. “Thea was high this afternoon, wasn’t she?”  
  
“As a kite.”  
  
  
  
**March 20 th, 2013**  
  
The Merlyn Global mainframe was testing Felicity’s patience. After three days of constant failures, it was wearing dangerously thin (it being her patience, not the mainframe). This was the third night in a row that Felicity had taken position in front of the computers in the Foundry in an effort to infiltrate the company’s system, only to run into dead end after dead end.  
  
She had started carefully, testing here and there, trying to find a subtle access point. With time she had taken a more and more direct approach, which had led to the brute force method, meaning she’d stopped caring if anybody noticed her entrance as long as she got in.  
  
Not even brute force had worked.  
  
By now she really understood why Oliver sometimes felt the need to punch his dummy.  
  
Not even the sight of Oliver working out (it was Wednesday, aka. salmon ladder day, which Felicity had missed, and _missed_ lately due to Firestorm) could quench the need to vent some anger. She was failing at something she was supposed to be good at. It was the one thing she could contribute to Oliver’s mission. Her expertise was supposed to trump that of some underpaid gremlin slaving away in the Merlyn Global IT department.  
  
“Gremlins?” Diggle said as he took the seat next to her. “The kind you shouldn’t feed after midnight?”  
  
“I thought you weren’t supposed to get them wet,” Oliver called, hanging from the rod he had brought to the top of the salmon ladder.  
  
So this was what Oliver felt like when he was nursing his anger and she made a dumb joke. Huh. Wasn’t really all that pleasant.  
  
Her fingers pounded on the keyboard. Maybe, if she—  
  
The “denied” popped up on her screen before she even managed to finish the thought. She groaned unhappily and kept from slamming her desk because she wouldn’t adopt her husband’s bad habits.  
  
“Felicity, just say this isn’t working,” Diggle offered.  
  
“This isn’t working!” She shoved her chair back and got up. Her heels clicked on the concrete as she walked a few steps away from her desk, keeping her back to the men. The sound of metal hitting metal was followed by a thud telling her that Oliver had ended his workout.  
  
“Felicity,” he said, “it’s okay.”  
  
“NO,” She shot around to face them. Oliver stood on the other side of her desk, bare chested, sweaty, and with worried wrinkles on his face. Diggle still sat by the desk. “It’s not okay,” she told them. “Not to brag, but I’m really good at this. Okay, that was a brag. But also the truth. Even if there hasn’t been much evidence of that in the last months. But, really, I know computers; I know what I’m doing. That FBI-hack I pulled in college—never happened, of course.” Acting as if she didn’t see the amused expressions on the men’s faces, Felicity finally arrived at the point she wanted to make in the first place, “Thing is: I’ve not been bested in this. Ever. Before. But since this whole Temp—”  
  
The words got caught in her throat as the implications they brought along registered within her. Her hands, which had been moving through the air animatedly, fell limp to her sides. She blinked. Her lips parted slightly with a curse of realization that she never voiced. Could that be?  
  
Forcefully, she marched back to her seat. “What?” John asked, but Felicity didn’t answer. Her eyes were glued to the screens, her fingers flew over the keyboard, her lips moved unconsciously with the commands she typed. She felt Oliver move to stand behind her, but she didn’t acknowledge it as she stopped trying to get into the system of Merlyn Global and instead analyzed the code of the mechanisms locking her out.  
  
The hints were subtle but undeniable. Feeling like she was really using her brain for the first time in three days, Felicity observed the switch from static to dynamic code, appreciated the elegant redirection to a subsection that was seriously badass (it was ironic, but true), and found the tell-tale abbreviation that was really sloppy in the midst of the sheer brilliancy she had expected to be there.  
  
Another “denied” blinked up on her screens. The man to her right sighed and her man, standing behind her, tensed. Except this hadn’t been about getting access, but answers.  
  
Her hands left the keyboard and she sank back in her chair. “Major Badass.”  
  
Confusion darkened John’s face. “What?”  
  
It was Oliver who answered, understanding and awe audibly mixing within him. “The hacker that attacked Firestorm?”  
  
“Yes.” The sudden revelation and everything it brought with it forced Felicity out of her chair. She couldn’t just sit there, she needed to get up. She crossed the room to the med table, spun, and headed back to the men. Her pulse quickened as the unnoticed threat, which had been around for months, suddenly became visible.  
  
“So, what?” John asked, casually sitting on his chair. “The other archer and the other hacker both work for Merlyn?”  
  
“It seems like it,” Oliver pressed the words out, aggressive and dangerous.  
  
Felicity’s hands rested on the back of her chair, feeling like she needed to hold on to something as her thoughtsraced. Suddenly, so many things became unbelievably clear, suddenly there was a sense to the things that had happened in the last months. The idea that Jeff Clearwater had been behind the attack on Firestorm had never resonated with Felicity, had never been believable. But this, Malcolm Merlyn’s involvement, Felicity believed that. She believed Malcolm Merlyn to be capable of evil—despite the fact that he had done a really good thing in saving Oliver.  
  
The attacks started after her search for the missing $2.6 million had been discovered. That had been the starting point—one Felicity couldn’t connect Jeff Clearwater to. Tempest, the wreck in the warehouse, the bombing—those things had a very personal air to them. The only reasons the CEO of Clearwater Solutions had to attack Firestorm, Inc. were economical. Jeff Clearwater was an acquaintance of the Queen family, Malcolm Merlyn was a family friend. He had compiled the list, he was in charge of The Undertaking. Felicity didn’t have the slightest idea how all of that was connected to the whole Tempest-fiasco, but she was sure, without the slightest doubt, that there was a connection. She just needed to find it.  
  
“Hey.” Oliver’s hand settled on her shoulder in a comforting gesture, pulling her out of her thoughts and to the here and now.  
  
For once, she didn’t want his comfort. “I need to get direct access to the Merlyn Global mainframe. I’m sure we’ll find some answers there. It wouldn’t be so heavily guarded if there wasn’t vital information on it.”  
  
“Direct access....” Getting the silent implication, Oliver’s shoulders squared. “Absolutely not.”  
  
“Oliver—”  
  
“No.” His hand fell from her shoulder. “You’re not going to Merlyn Global.”  
  
“Why not? He said he wants to switch to Firestorm software. It’s just a business meeting with a man who... saved your life. All friendly.”  
  
“There’s nothing friendly about that, Felicity. He’s dangerous.”  
  
“And he has people at his disposal who know what they’re doing,” John Diggle reminded. “People who bested both of you at your fields of expertise.” Aiming right for the open wound, John didn’t just touch but poked around. That didn’t change the fact that he was right.  
  
Oliver stood as if frozen but Felicity’s muscles complied. She let go of her chair. “That’s why I need access to the mainframe. Looking at the system to make sure our software’s compatible is a perfectly reasonable request. I’ll have Jerry call Merlyn’s EA, set up a meeting, make it all official.”  
  
“No!”  
  
“Oliver—”  
  
“I said NO!”  
  
She stared at Oliver. Was he out of his mind? He had absolutely no right to—  
  
“He’s on to you,” Oliver said with forced calm. “He knows it was you looking into Tempest and the warehouse. He _knows_ , Felicity.” His voice turned more haunting. The need to make her understand, to make her see reason was obvious. His urgency chased the fight out of her. “That’s why my mother said you were in the most danger. Merlyn distracted you. With the attacks on your company.”  
  
“How can you be so sure?” Felicity asked, quietly.  
  
“Because it’s smart,” John offered. “Keep you busy, keep your attention on something else entirely.”  
  
Oliver nodded. “It’s what I’d do if I didn’t want to resort to killing somebody.” The lack of emotion on Oliver’s face, the cool assessment of that statement, was proof to Felicity of how much all of this affected him. The evidence of his index finger meeting his thumb wasn’t necessary for her to sense his internal struggle.  
  
A heavy silence sunk over them. John ended it, “Distraction’s a powerful tool.”  
  
“Okay, Sun Tsu,” Felicity said, giving Oliver a glance, “Sun Tsus. But that distraction’s dealt with, I—” Felicity felt like somebody had sparked her brain. With it came sudden insight and, once again, shock. “That’s why he asked those things during Tommy’s birthday dinner. He wanted to see if I bought the Clearwater story. He was Merlyn’s fall guy.”  
  
Oliver’s jaw was grinding. “Probably the only reason he came to his son’s birthday to begin with. To check without raising suspicion.”  
  
All of that might be true but that didn’t change one basic fact. Steeling herself for the argument she knew was coming, she said, “We still need more information. I need to get access to Merlyn’s system. And setting up a meeting is the best way to do it.”  
  
“Not happening.”  
  
“It’s the only way to do this. I make up an appointment, waltz up there, and plug in my tablet.”  
  
“NO.” The tautness within Oliver was close to spilling, she could feel it, hear it in the quivering of his voice. “Major...” he hated saying that name. It was obvious. He despised forming the nickname with his tongue, “Badass is in charge of that system, he might notice what you’re doing and inform Merlyn. We can’t risk that. You won’t go anywhere near that mainframe.” He flexed his muscles and Felicity knew she’d hate whatever he’d say next, “I’ll confront Merlyn tonight, ask him some very pointed questions about the list and The Undertaking.”  
  
“NO,” Felicity shook her head. “Not with the other archer out there. We’re lucky he backed off and didn’t call you out again. You know how your last confrontation with him ended. You were lucky you got out.”  
  
“Okay, okay,” John got up from his chair, his hands raised in a calming manner. The spouses continued staring at each other while he said, “You’re both right. Felicity, you need to say away from Merlyn Global. Oliver, you should stay away from Merlyn, senior.”

“We can’t do NOTHING, Diggle!”  
  
Unaffected by Oliver’s outburst, John shrugged. “I never said we should.”  
  
Oliver opened his mouth to snap at his partner and suddenly paused. The idea forming in his head was visible on his face and with it came a certain calm. “You’re right. Felicity shouldn’t go to Merlyn Global, The Hood shouldn’t confront Merlyn. But The Hood can waltz up to the mainframe and plug something in.”  
  
“Oliver,” Felicity said earnestly, “the mainframe is located inside Merlyn Global Group’s headquarters. On the twenty-fifth floor.” She heard John grunt as he shook his head with the realization of a mission impossible. And Felicity wasn’t even done yet. “It’s only accessible through a restricted access elevator.”  
  
“I know.” Oliver didn’t bat an eye. “Getting in’s not a problem.”  
  
The cocky jerk. Pushing away the thought that she shouldn’t find his confidence so awfully attractive, she tilted her head, as if challenging him. “Oh? But maybe the fact that you don’t know what to do once you’re inside is. Checking the system isn’t exactly like checking your emails—which I don’t think I’ve ever seen you doing.” She frowned, “Do you even have an email address? Castaway@gmail.com?”  
  
Inhaling, Oliver ignored her last quip and challenged her right back. “Major Badass managed to come up with something that enabled your ex-CFO to mess up your system. Are you telling me you can’t whip up something like that?”  
  
“I...” she frowned, “can.” Her mind started working, the wheels turning faster. It was a good idea, actually. She could make that work—even if it was just that: work. “It will take some time, though. That’s not like checking my emails, either.”  
  
Oliver nodded. “Better get started then.”  
  
  
  
**March 23 rd, 2013**  
  
Thea Queen would be carded at the bar.  
  
Maybe that was the reason she was nowhere to be seen.  
  
Oliver stood on the balcony looking down at the packed dance floor. Green – of course – and blue laser beams cut through the air, moving with the loud music, booming out of the speakers and mixing with the cheers of the people downstairs. Throwing their hands up, the it-crowd partying at the Verdant-opening celebrated Steve Aoki. The DJ stood coolly on the elevated stand, nodding to the beat, ignoring the girls lingering close by and the glances they sent him.  
  
The latter was something Steve Aoki and Oliver Queen had in common. And, even though Oliver acted like he didn’t, he noticed the stares directed at him. How could he miss the way some girls exaggeratedly swayed their hips, the way they smiled at him seductively (if they tried to be more “subtle” in their obviousness), licked their lips or flaunted their assets at him (being obviously obvious). Ten years ago Ollie Queen would have enjoyed the easy pickings, but Oliver Queen had left that decade behind. The female attention made him slightly uneasy—especially since his mother was with him. Oh, and Felicity, his wife, who some guys were undressing with their eyes as she stood right next to him. He fought even harder to ignore that.  
  
The size of the smile on Tommy Merlyn’s face should be impossible. Excitement was oozing from him as he and Laurel joined the Queens – Oliver, Felicity, and Moira – with a tray filled with champagne flutes. “Queens!” Tommy cheered. “I know we’re here to work and not to party, but this day needs to be toasted!”  
  
Oliver reached for two glasses and handed them to his mother and Felicity. “Thank you,” Moira said. She looked much too put together for a night of clubbing. “I know I haven’t always been supportive of this endeavor, but I have to admit that this nightclub is quite the accomplishment.”  
  
Taking a champagne flute for himself, Oliver nodded. “Thank you. But most of it was accomplished by Tommy.”  
  
The man who had come up the idea to open this club, who had designed the interior, stocked the bar, and hired the famous DJ dismissed his friend’s praise. “It was a team effort.” He raised his glass, “To Verdant!”  
  
The others joined in the toast. Moira took a sip of champagne. “I am still very proud of you, Oliver. And your father would be proud, too.”  
  
All Oliver felt like doing in response was nod. He wasn’t sure he agreed because this, opening a club, did nothing to right Robert Queen’s wrongs. And Oliver knew that nothing short of that would be honoring to his father. He felt Felicity’s hand slip in his and hold on firmly.  
  
“I’m very proud, too,” Laurel kissed Tommy’s cheek. “Where’s your father?”  
  
“I invited him,” Tommy answered, “but I’m not sure he’ll come.” He smiled. “Not really his scene.”  
  
A collective awkwardness captured the assembled Queens. Tellingly, it was Moira who smoothed it over the best. “I’m sure he’s very proud of everything you accomplished,” she encouraged her son’s oldest friend. “I am happy to hear that you settled your differences.”  
  
“Nothing like your father saving your best friend to bury the hatchet.”  
  
Again, the three Queens only managed polite laughter. Felicity’s hand tightened around Oliver’s. It was the only sign of her uneasiness. She hid the rest by bringing the champagne flute to her lips. And right in that second all Oliver could think was that there wasn’t a surer way to end a friendship than by killing your best friend’s father.


	34. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Girls and guys, I’m melting. It’s unbelievably hot over here. I know that’s neither breaking news nor exactly relevant for you, but since my laptop’s close to a heatstroke I’ll keep it short. I’m really excited that you enjoyed the previous chapter. I think it’s safe to say that we now left relationship-phase two behind to slide into what I think’s called “truly established.” Finally! After 33 chapters that feels like an accomplishment. Thank you for your wonderful comments. Seriously, thank you for taking the time to write me a note; I know you’re all busy at Tumblr. ;)
> 
> OH! And the biggest THANK YOU to everybody who voted for this story in the Multifandom Fanfic Awards. Third place feels amazing and I am grateful!
> 
> **Albiona** ’s still with me and I am forever thankful. But; Albi, I’ll spare you a hug this time, because I’m sweaty.
> 
> Wow, guess that’s what my version of “keeping it short” looks like. Sorry, I can’t seem to help myself. Okay, now that Oliver and Felicity found their relationship groove, I think it’s time for others to bond. I hope you enjoy!  
> Love, Jules

**March 27 th, 2013  
  
**Having a burger with a friend should be nothing you needed to be forced into. But John Diggle needed to use his serious voice for Oliver to put his bow down for the night. The adrenaline filling his body told Oliver that sitting still, eating a cheeseburger surrounded by babbling teenagers was exactly the opposite of what he needed. **  
  
** After failing to cross John Nickels, one of the dirtiest real estate developers in town, off his list because the man was missing from his apartment that showed signs of struggle, Oliver wanted to go out and target somebody else. He needed to keep at it and get things done. He needed to continue scratching people off this long, long list that didn’t seem to get any shorter—especially since he had started targeting people that weren’t even listed. **  
  
** Oliver didn’t have time to waste: he needed to honor the promise to his father so that he could focus on the promise he had given his wife. **  
  
** Seeing the picture of Felicity and Jonas triggered something within Oliver. Back in his mother’s living room all he had been able to do was stare at the photo and listen as the women he loved shared memories. The emotion had overwhelmed him. But with it came a sudden and unexpected longing that had caught him off-guard. Telling Felicity he wanted to have a family with her had been the easiest way to sum up every wish raining down on him. Oliver wanted everything that picture represented. Looking at the photos, he had known, he had felt it. **  
** On Jonas’ anniversary he had acknowledged all that in the barest form and filed it away for later analysis, because that day hadn’t been about what he had wanted but about what Felicity had needed. **  
  
** Since then he spent a lot of time analyzing, separating fantasy from reality, and it made him understand how, and more importantly why, Felicity had sped mentally ahead during her pregnancy. That realization had caused him to inwardly freeze. He couldn’t give himself the same luxury, doing so would be a mistake: getting too far ahead of himself couldn’t be good. **  
  
** But he could admit that he wanted this future—more than anything. **  
  
** He had to accept that he had broken his promise to put his life on hold until the list was done with practically the moment he had returned to Starling City. That plan had been abandoned when he opened the door of Queen Mansion and found Felicity behind it. The vow to press pause on all personal matters had shattered into pieces and things had played out since then. But that didn’t mean that he could consciously press fast-forward to happy family life with Lamaze-classes and playing football behind the house—they’d move out of the damn skyscraper the moment Felicity was pregnant, he wanted his family to have a home in a house with a backyard. **  
  
** Later. **  
  
** When he had earned it. **  
  
** That was an important detail—the most important detail. He didn’t deserve that yet, that happiness, his happily ever after. He had to earn it, which meant finishing the list and honoring his father. Oliver was no longer a man who broke his promises. That change was important, because it meant that he was a starting to be a man worthy of Felicity’s love. **  
  
** All of this, the emotional stuff he has been working through in the last week, was the reason he really didn’t want to call it a night after being unable to get to John Nickels. Felicity was needed at Firestorm tonight. Yongtak had apparently insisted they finally finish the new security software and Felicity didn’t have a counterargument. She could hardly tell her Vice President / friend that she had to code a virus capable of auto-infiltrating Merlyn Global’s mainframe and scanning the data for clearly specified keywords. Pulling an all-nighter to finish her official coding to be able to concentrate on the secretive version had been Felicity’s solution to that dilemma, which resulted in Oliver having a night to himself. And he had planned to thoroughly dedicate this night to his hood-work. **  
  
** John Diggle crushed that plan. Not by using his serious voice, but by looking utterly defeated, by looking like he was the one needing a burger. **  
  
** All the stuff he had been working through probably guided Oliver’s decision to give in easily, to get out of his green suit, and to go to Big Belly Burger with his partner. **  
  
** It was around nine on a Wednesday evening and the burger joint was packed. Teenagers occupied the tables, including the booth Oliver usually preferred, because allowed him to eye the whole room and because it was the place he asked Felicity to stay married to him. The only seats left for Oliver and Diggle were by the counter. The excited chatter of the teens mixed with the constant beeping of incoming text messages and music playing from too-small speakers. **  
  
** Ignoring all the commotion, Oliver took a huge bite of his cheeseburger and instantly realized that his partner had been right: he needed to eat something. Recognizing the knowing glance Diggle sent him, Oliver didn’t even try to deny it. “Hungrier than I thought,” he admitted and took another bite. Chewing carefully, Oliver placed his eyes on the young man behind the counter. “Is Carly not here tonight?” **  
  
** “It’s her day off,” John answered and reached for his fries.  
**  
** “Then why are you sitting here with me? You should go home and spend the evening with her.” Oliver took another huge bite of his burger and didn’t add that lately Diggle had been staying in the Foundry longer than necessary, taking shifts from Brad Foster as Felicity’s bodyguard, and basically avoiding going home. **  
  
** This time Diggle didn’t even try to deny it. He sighed. “I can’t.” **  
  
** Even though Oliver believed he knew the answer, he had to ask. He swallowed. “Why not?” **  
  
** “Lawton.” Diggle made that name sound like a sigh of equal parts desperation and anger. **  
  
** It also met Oliver’s expectations. He had been sure the sniper who’d killed his brother was responsible for Diggle’s sudden retreat. The proof that Deadshot was still alive had shaken the ex-soldier. **  
  
** “I can’t read a book to my nephew knowing that Lawton took his father from him,” Diggle admitted, turning on his seat to face Oliver. “I can’t move on with Carly, can’t move on with my life, knowing he’s still out there.” **  
  
** Letting the burger sink, Oliver looked at his partner and dug his brain for something to say. Slowly, he nodded. “Believe me, I understand.” **  
  
** “Yeah,” Diggle huffed, “I guess if anybody understands, it’s you.” **  
  
** Oliver reached for his drink. “I know what it’s like to want revenge, Diggle. But in the last months I’ve realized that… you can’t pause your life to get it. Not completely.” **  
  
** A sad smile showed on the other man’s face. “That works for you, man. But not for me.” He shook his head as if trying to force thoughts away. “When you asked me to join your mission and help you keep Felicity safe, I told you that you needed to stay away from her because you’d only end up putting her in danger and hurting her.” **  
  
** Pressing his lips together, Oliver nodded. He remembered that conversation clearly. **  
  
** “I was wrong back then,” Diggle continued, surprising Oliver. “Seeing you and Felicity together, I understand why you didn’t stay away, why you need each other. You found yourselves a way to handle the situation. It’s your solution, not mine. I can’t be thinking about killing a man and spending quality time with Carly and AJ. I can’t get them mixed up in this hate I’m feeling, can’t get them involved in my revenge.” **  
  
** Oliver knew that he should probably tell Diggle that he couldn’t link his own happiness to the death of another man, that he shouldn’t focus on killing somebody and missing out on living in the process, that Deadshot’s death didn’t change the fact that his brother was dead and gone, that revenge didn’t stop the grief. **  
  
** Those were very mature and emotionally healthy things to say in such a moment—and there was no way Oliver could let any of those things leave his mouth. **  
  
** He knew how Diggle felt. He knew what it felt like when your thoughts were limited to a single fixation, when it stopped being about right or wrong and started being about fulfilling a need. This wasn’t about working through grief or getting closure, it was about payback, taking a life in the name of another, making somebody pay for the pain that tore at you and was threatening to swallow you whole. Oliver had stared at that darkness and he knew that there wasn’t one clichéd inspirational phrase out there that could shed any light on that. But he also knew that facing that darkness and allowing it to take over was something you couldn’t return from. And there was one fundamental difference between the two men sitting at the counter of the diner, eating their burgers. **  
  
** Oliver was a killer. But Diggle was a soldier. **  
  
** That knowledge told Oliver that there was only one thing to say to his friend. “We’ll make Lawton a priority, next to Merlyn. And when we find him, I’ll take care of him.” **  
  
** That matter-of-fact statement froze John Diggle to his seat. Rivaling emotions crossed his face as he stared at the other man. He obviously liked that offer, wanted to accept it, but he felt like he shouldn’t, like he couldn’t. Ignoring multiple beeping sounding from behind him – those kids and their cellphones were worse than Felicity and that woman would rather leave the house naked than go without her phone – Oliver finally put the drink he still had in hand back on the counter. “Deadshot and I have some unfinished business anyway. I’ll cross him off your list.” **  
  
** Slowly the ability to move returned to Diggle and it came back with a nod. “Thank you.” **  
  
** The increasing electronic noise around them kept Oliver from answering. Diggle obviously noticed, too, as he turned around and glanced at the teenagers around them who were all staring at their phones. “Okay, what is going on?” **  
  
** This was the moment Oliver’s cellphone vibrated next to him with a message from Felicity. It contained a link to a live feed—and in the next second he knew where John Nickels had disappeared to: he had been kidnapped by a madman only to be executed in a gruesome broadcast with the flashy label “Glades Betrayed.” And as the gunshot sounded from uncounted electronic devises around them, Oliver and Diggle looked at each other and both men knew: both Merlyn and Lawton would have to wait. **  
  
  
  
March 29 th, 2013  
  
**Moira Queen’s assistant had nothing on Jerry Conway. An inappropriate sense of superiority on behalf of her own EA filled Felicity. In the years Jerry worked for her, his work was impeccable—and because of that Felicity knew that it wasn’t her EA’s fault that there wasn’t the slightest trace of her meeting with Moira Queen. **  
  
** If Jerry said he scheduled a meeting, Jerry scheduled a meeting. **  
  
** Sadly, that didn’t change the fact that there wasn’t the slightest hint at an appointment in the calendar belonging to Queen Consolidated’s CEO. **  
  
** Moira’s executive assistant, a young woman in a light grey business suit, was visibly flustered as she hurried toward Felicity, a cappuccino in hand. “I am very sorry, Mrs. Queen. Mrs. Queen will be here any moment.” **  
  
** Felicity took the cup from the slightly shaking hand of the overly nervous brunette. Taking pity in her, Felicity decided not to live up to her image. She sent the other female a small smile, knowing that this situation probably equaled a worst-case scenario for her: forgetting a meeting with the rumored cold-hearted daughter-in-law of her (probably) difficult boss—the girl had every reason to be close to a nervous breakdown. “Don’t worry. I’ll wait.” **  
  
** The brunette nodded and rushed out of the CEO office. The coffee was too cold and too sweet for Felicity’s taste. Swallowing the horrible sip she had just taken, Felicity sat the cup on the glass table in front of her and let her eyes travel through the room. **  
  
** All traces of Moira’s meeting with The Hood had been cleaned. Felicity tried but failed to imagine what the situation had been like, Moira Queen facing The Hood, mother and son having the most distorted version of a family confrontation ever. **  
  
** Oliver had given Felicity a short summary: how he had crashed through the window, how he had aimed his bow at the green lamp once decorating his grandparents’ sitting room, how he had sent an arrow at the family pictures. **  
  
** Following this thought, Felicity got up from the black leather seat and headed around Moira’s desk to the cabinet. Pictures were spread out on top, just like Oliver had told her. The whole family was assembled in perfect Kodak-moments: there was the pre-island family in one photo. Another showed Thea as a young kid, next to a frame filled with cocky-looking, teenage Oliver. There were mother and daughter smiling into the camera (the imagery seemed absolutely fake to Felicity), Walter and Moira in a flawless black-and-white-shot, and the whole post-island family at the last Christmas party. She reached for the latter photo, studying it, and decided that it was a nice picture, they all looked good. It was the only one that featured Felicity. She stood next to Oliver, whose arm was around her. Felicity had to admit that she liked the sight of it—sadly the niceness of it was tainted by the knowledge that only one hour after the photograph had been taken Felicity had rushed out of the mansion and to Oliver lying next to a dumpster, unconscious and badly beaten. **  
  
** The horrible aftermath wasn’t visible in this snapshot. It didn’t fit the collection of smiling faces. This photogenic parade was the official Queen-family, this was their public images displayed in pretty images. **  
  
** “Felicity, dear. I’m so sorry. I will have a long discussion with Alice about this.” **  
  
** The voice of her mother-in-law caused Felicity to turn around, the picture of the current Queen-Steele-family still in hand. “No worries,” Felicity dismissed. “It’s only been ten minutes.” She raised the frame slightly. “This is a really nice photo.” **  
  
** Moira walked toward her with sure steps full of forceful purpose. Her hair, make-up, and clothes were impeccable as always, there also was a polite smile on her face which held a certain warmth Moira only started sending Felicity’s way in the previous months. “Yes,” she agreed, recognizing the photo her daughter-in-law was referring to, “I like that picture very much. Oliver and you need to take a picture, just the two of you, so I can add it to the collection. Now that The Hood destroyed my favorite picture of Oliver and Robert, there’s an empty space.” **  
  
** Moira sounded absolutely calm as she said that, she might as well have told Felicity that somebody had broken a coffee cup. It was that calm – a telltale Queen-coping-mechanism – that rattled Felicity even more. “He destroyed a picture?” **  
  
** “He shot at it, hit Robert right in the face.” The calm was slipping a little, there was a slight quiver in Moira’s voice. **  
  
** All Felicity could do in response was look at her mother-in-law as she processed this information: Oliver had _literally_ shot his father in the face. **  
  
** Psychiatrists would go bonkers over that. (If they hadn’t already spontaneously combusted when confronted with the whole alter-ego-green-leather-vigilante-thing.) **  
  
** If shooting at your father’s face (and Felicity knew that, with Oliver’s seemingly inhuman aim, the hit hadn’t been a coincidence) wasn’t a passive aggressive sign of (poorly) suppressed anger, Felicity didn’t know what was. **  
  
** It also was the whole the truth behind the basic information that The Hood had shot at the family pictures; it was the deeper meaning behind the things Oliver had told her. Felicity should probably talk to him about it, but she had nothing to say about that to Moira. She swallowed and decided to go an adequately vague conversational route, “I’m sure being confronted with him was terrifying.” **  
  
** “Well,” Moira said, “it certainly wasn’t pleasant. But you didn’t come here to talk about that, did you?” She gestured toward the sitting area. **  
  
** “No,” Felicity admitted, “I didn’t.” Following Moira, she motioned toward the basket placed on the glass table, filled with apples. “I brought these, for you. I…” Felicity knew her mouth would get away from her the moment she started that sentence and the unease of discussing The Hood turned into nervousness about asking Moira for a favor. “I felt like I couldn’t come empty-handed. I have this stupid habit, I blame it on my mother, she started it. It’s one of the few things I’ve gotten from her other than the inability to hold a note. Really, I’m a horrible singer. But I’ve got my mother’s hair—not hair color, but the thickness….” Felicity cleared her throat. **  
  
** Moira simply gestured to a chair, elegantly sitting down on the opposite one. **  
  
** “Thank you.” Felicity took a seat. Moira’s reaction did nothing to limit her nervousness. “Normally I bring sweets, cupcakes or muffins, but I knew that you wouldn’t eat those anyway. And now I realize that bringing apples instead probably was a bad choice, but… vitamins. I’m sorry, Moira, I’ll stop talking. Right. Now.” Felicity inhaled deeply and held it before releasing it slowly, and more quietly. **  
  
** All poise, Moira Queen sat on the leather seat, her knees closed, her ankles crossed, her folded hands on her lap. “Walter told me about that habit of yours. So: what do you want to ask me?” **  
  
** “My team and I have been working on a new software in the last months. It’s done, but we need to field test it. We will do that at Firestorm, of course, but I think we also need to test on a larger scale.” **  
  
** “You want to test your software here at Queen Consolidated?” **  
  
** “Yes. I personally guarantee you that all your files will be secure and that it will not interfere with the work at all. Three departments. That’s all I need to—” **  
  
** “Felicity,” Moira stopped her, “of course, you can test your software here.” **  
  
** Strangely, Felicity couldn’t simply smile and thank her mother-in-law. Instead, she said, “I know it’s probably not entirely professional to ask you for this favor. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do it, just because we’re sort of family. You—” **  
  
** Again, the older woman cut the younger off. “Felicity, of course I’ll do it because you’re family. You’re a Queen and we stick together.” **  
  
** That sentence hit Felicity completely off-guard. Never had Moira said anything like that, made Felicity feel like she was anything more than a means to an end. In all fairness, Moira had softened since Oliver’s return. Ever since Thanksgiving the Queen matriarch had been more welcoming, had stopped making her feel like an outsider. Giving back the pictures of Jonas, spending hours in her living room talking about the pregnancy and the baby, reminiscing, had been nice. It had reminded Felicity of all the things she had conquered with Moira by her side and, strangely, that had made her more aware of their shared connection. **  
  
** But this was the first time that Moira had actually voiced it—and hearing it made Felicity realize that she didn’t mind being connected to Moira; she enjoyed being part of her family. And that was a medium to large miracle, considering the revelations (and the paranoid suspicions) of the previous months, considering the many secrets Moira kept and that had been uncovered. **  
  
** All of that caused a smile to show on Felicity’s face as she said, genuinely, “That means a lot to me and I’m thankful.” **  
  
** Silence settled over the two women before Moira gave herself an inward but clearly visible push. “I know Oliver thinks I disapprove of you. But I don’t,” she stated in a very matter-of-fact tone. “You’re a smart and capable woman, Felicity, and you love my son. You’re good to him and for him. Despite the shenanigans in Las Vegas, which I obviously strongly disapprove of, I am in favor of your marriage and I am glad that my son found love. You are a worthy addition to the Queen-family.” **  
  
** Felicity forced her jaw not to drop to the floor. Moira might have spoken in a very calculated and detached manner, but Felicity was deeply touched by her words. This was the Moira Queen equivalent of writing “I love Felicity” into the sky. This was a heartfelt “welcome to the family” and it made Felicity’s heart light from joy and heavy with emotions at the same time. She forced herself to give Moira a reaction that made her mother-in-law proud, one fitting for a Queen who was perfectly visible through a glass wall to observing eyes. Felicity sat unmoving in her seat, but her voice showed how much she meant her next words. “Thank you, Moira. I am happy to be a part of this family.” **  
  
** A sad smile showed on Moira’s face, a certain softness crept into her eyes. “Robert would have liked you, too.” Moira cleared her throat, her voice steeled the barest bit. “You have a business sense; fitting for Queen Consolidated. And your company is one of our subsidiaries, after all. So, I will inform Jared Bishop that you’ll contact him. He’s the head of our IT department. Please, discuss all details regarding this field test with him. You have absolute freedom on this project. Incorporate as many departments as you need to.” **  
  
** Felicity nodded. “I will.” **  
  
** “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have another meeting, one that was actually scheduled.” **  
  
** Moira got up from her seat and Felicity followed her example, saying, “Again, thank you. I am grateful for everything.” **  
  
** With anybody else – Kristina, Thea, Yongtak, even John – this would have been the moment for a hug (with Oliver this would have been the moment for a kiss), but that was unthinkable when it came to Moira Queen. Knowing there were six curious eyes on them (Moira’s EA, the man who was Moira’s next meeting, and Brad Foster, who had accompanied Felicity here for security reasons mainly involving an overprotective husband), the two women shook hands and said goodbye with polite smiles. But there was a new warmth in them, a truce had become a thoroughly buried hatchet. **  
  
** With a lightness in her steps Felicity left the office resembling an aquarium, sent the EA and the next meeting a polite nod, and headed toward the elevator, followed by Brad Foster. Together Felicity and her bodyguard entered. **  
  
** Ever since he had driven her to Queen Mansion so that she could sit and cry next to Jonas’ grave, the air between Felicity and Brad Foster had changed. He looked at her differently, he had become more protective. It showed in minor gestures: in the way he looked at her, in the way he took a few seconds longer to make sure it was safe to open the door of the car, in their conversations that had turned more personal (Felicity was perfectly up to date about the state of his fiancée’s elaborate wedding preparations). Appreciation and dislike battled inside Felicity. She liked and hated the fact that their platonic relationship had changed. She didn’t want his pity, but at the same time she liked to know that he cared. **  
  
** It was the fact that Brad Foster – the huge, trained man with the missing thumb – had seen Felicity at her lowest that made it possible for her to reach for her cellphone as soon as she sat in the backseat of the car. Her bodyguard (who would still never be a John Diggle) was behind the steering wheel taking her back to Firestorm. His eyes were on the road, but his ears, she had no illusions about that, were on her conversation. **  
  
** It rang four times until Oliver finally answered. “Hey.” **  
  
** “Hey,” she said, sounding as happy as she felt. “I just had a great meeting with your mother. Really, it was awesome. She told me she approves of me.” **  
  
** “That’s—” He made a sound managing to combine amusement and consternation before he swallowed. “That’s about time.” **  
  
** Felicity frowned. “What’s up with you? You sound really out of breath.” **  
  
** “I just ran across rooftops to keep a man from getting shot, but Diggle directed me to two wrong locations.” Now Oliver didn’t only sound out of breath, but also angry. “You said Diggle could operate the tracer-program you set up.” **  
  
** “I—” **  
  
** “I need you at the Foundry tonight. There are lives on the line.” **  
  
** Oh, awesome, he was in _that_ mood. **  
  
** Also: only the presence of Brad Foster kept her from asking what exactly he meant by ‘ran across rooftops’. That didn’t sound like anything she approved of, at all. **  
  
** But she recognized the tension in his voice, which told her of high levels of adrenaline and anger rooted in defeat. The unspoken message of both was clear: the run across rooftops (really, that sounded dangerous!) hadn’t led him to success and, apparently, that had resulted in a man getting shot. Deciding that was an acceptable reason to be in a mood, she ignored his unjustified snap at her. “Do you want me to come by right now? If time’s pressing I’ll ask Brad to drive me to the club.” **  
  
** He sighed and she could hear the forced calm in his voice. “No, sorry.” He wasn’t doing a good job at sounding unaffected, but he was trying. “He just shot a guy. I guess he needs some time to grab another. Go to Firestorm.” **  
  
** Those were horrible sentences. They made Felicity once again wonder what her life had come to. They also made her original plan to go to Firestorm and discuss the first basics about the upcoming field test with Yongtak impossible. She couldn’t do that knowing there were, to quote Oliver, ‘lives on the line.’ Avoiding coding the search program was perfectly fine since finishing it meant that Oliver would put himself in danger by entering Merlyn Global. Procrastination was okay when it came to that, but this was different. She had seen the first Glades Betrayed stream (it had been hard to miss, popping up on every available screen in the office) and witnessing it had been awful. The sound of the gunshot still rang her ears, fueled by the memories of guns being directed at her, bullets being fired at her. **  
  
** Those vivid memories were enough for her to prioritize accordingly. Before Oliver could say anything else, she said, “I’m on my way.” **  
  
** _________________________________________________ **  
  
  
** Oliver hadn’t expected owning one half of a club to actually end up being work. His expectations had revolved around giving Tommy some money, enabling his friend to create his vision whilst building the perfect cover-story for the work Oliver actually wanted to do and had to keep hidden. **  
  
** That plan had failed. **  
  
** Since the grand opening – which had only happened last weekend – Oliver had been forced to accept that he couldn’t let Tommy do all the work.  
  
Mainly because Tommy wouldn’t allow it. **  
  
** No matter how often Oliver told his friend that he was fine with being a silent partner, the Merlyn heir made Oliver talk, state his opinion, get involved. It started with deciding if switching suppliers was a good idea, continued with auditioning DJs to establish a “Humpday Party” on Wednesdays, and didn’t end with the information that the female restrooms were surprisingly dirty. The only thing Oliver could actually have been helpful with (getting adequate security and a bouncer) was – of course! – the only decision Tommy made on his own. **  
  
** All of this felt like a gigantic waste of his time, but nothing had been as bad as being confronted with the lost and found. **  
  
** Staring at worn panties in a box while his wife was one flight of stairs below, trying to figure out how John Diggle could have used her tracer program correctly and still sent him into to “bogus locations,” was a new low. It also begged a question. “What kind of business has a lost and found that’s filled with women’s underwear?” **  
  
** Tommy looked at him as if that was the dumbest question in the history of asking. “Only the best business ever! Oh, having this much fun should be against the law.” **  
  
** Biting back a sigh, Oliver dug his brain for some believable excuse that would get him back downstairs and away from this conversation. This here wasn’t work, at least not the work he wanted to be doing; this was a waste of time he didn’t want to deal with. He was about to use Felicity as an excuse (Oliver had come to realize that most things could be blamed on a wife) when suddenly the picture on the TV behind the bar changed and caught his attention. **  
  
** The bright green banner flashing over the screen was a clear sign that the Starling City News Network (SCNN) had something big to share and wanted everybody to have a good and close look. It worked. Oliver couldn’t tear his eyes away. He heard Tommy say something, but the words didn’t register with him, they fell onto deaf ears as his whole attention was grabbed by the face he saw on TV, a face he recognized but that shouldn’t be here. **  
  
** “I know that kid.” **  
  
** That information leaving Oliver’s lips without him consciously forming the words shut Tommy up in the middle of what he was saying. Instead Tommy asked, “You do? How?” **  
  
** “He’s Thea’s...” After a second of hesitation deliberating which label was appropriate and acceptable to the big brother in him, he settled for, “friend. His name’s….” He dug his brain but couldn’t remember. **  
  
**

Tommy found a remote and unmuted the TV.

**  
** A distorted voice introduced, “Meet Roy Harper.” The name proved that Oliver was right: this kid was the boy with the red hoodie he had caught flirting with his sister on a sidewalk in the Glades. Now a close-up of Roy’s face was transmitted into every home, onto every laptop and phone.  
  
Everybody had a front row view of his bleeding nose. Everybody could see the defiant look in his eyes, which didn’t quite manage to hide his fear. Oliver couldn’t blame the boy: by the way Roy was holding his shoulders, Oliver was sure that his hands were tied above him, which left him helpless, defenseless to a maniac who had already shot two people—and the body of the last one was probably still slightly warm. **  
  
** Not even Oliver considered this adequate punishment—even if the kid had hit on his baby sister. **  
  
** But, apparently, that wasn’t why he was tied up. The electronically changed voice listed different felonies, “Arrests for larceny and robbery, aggravated assault.” The man pushing the camera even closer to Roy’s face and let that information sink in for his viewers before he spat, “And you’re out on the streets. Another gangbanger in the Glades, running free, like the ones who killed my wife.” Not even the computer could mask the hurt in the kidnapper’s voice, in the voice of Joseph Falk. **  
  
** It had taken Felicity one minute to reveal his identity when she joined Diggle and Oliver in the Foundry this afternoon. The fact that the wife of the man responsible for the Glades Betrayed-thing had been killed in a cellar and that District Attorney Gavin Carnahan had been involved in the unsuccessful prosecution had been enough for her to come up with the name and a few personal facts. **  
  
** Oliver pressed his lips together as he stared at the TV. Who cared if he had a name? The name was useless. Knowing who he was wouldn’t help Oliver one bit from keeping Falk from shooting anybody else. He needed his location. **  
  
** The cellphone vibrating in his pants pocket told Oliver the broadcast had also popped up on the screens in the Foundry. Without another word – he couldn’t be bothered to come up with an excuse for Tommy right now – Oliver turned around—and was rooted in place as he saw Thea rush toward him, crying and shaking. **  
  
** “Ollie!” Her voice shook but she didn’t look at him. Her eyes were glued to the TV, to the beaten young man. “Oh, God! No!” Frantically, she shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. **  
  
** “Thea,” Oliver said gently, trying to snap his sister out of her frantic fear. There was a cut on her forehead but it didn’t look deep. Nothing to visit a doctor over and his trained eye told him that no stitches were necessary. **  
  
** Saying her name got her attention but did nothing to reduce the panic. It was a different kind of fear than the one he had seen in her eyes when the Dodger had strapped the bomb collar around her neck. This time an air of desperation wavered around her. “We were fighting; he called me a drunk,” she told him. “And some guy came out of nowhere and just attacked us.” She met his eyes as she pleaded forcefully, “He doesn’t deserve to die.” She reached for Oliver’s plaid shirt, burying her hands in the cloth as she clung to him, fixating her eyes on her brother, brown orbs drilling into his blue ones. “He needs somebody to get him out of there. Somebody needs to help him. He deserves to be saved.” **  
  
** Oliver brought his hands to his sister’s shoulders, never breaking their eye contact. “I promise, he’s going to be okay.” He glanced at Tommy, who was watching the exchange with a frown on his face. “Stay with Tommy. I’ll...” his hesitation while searching for a believable excuse was minimal and he hoped neither Thea nor Tommy noticed, “contact Lance. See what he knows.” **  
  
** “Yes,” Thea encouraged, nodding forcefully, tears dripping from her chin. Her eyes were drawn back to the TV, to the boy who obviously was more than a friend to her. “I’ll stay with Tommy. You... do whatever.” **  
  
** Sending Tommy a quick glance, silently asking him to take care of his sister, Oliver gave Thea’s shoulders one last squeeze before hurrying away, reaching for his cellphone that hadn’t stopped vibrating in the last minute. Hopefully that meant Felicity and Diggle had something for him. Oliver had promised something to his sister and he was hell-bent on living up to his word. **  
  
** ___________________________________________ **  
  
  
** The Hood’s first action had been stopping the transmission of Roy Harper telling Joseph Falk to just go and kill him, to end it, and be done with it. The bloody face of the boy in the red hoodie had vanished from the TVs, screens, and phones of the Starling City’s residents as SCNN had been forced to end the live stream of something that should have never been broadcasted in the first place. **  
  
** But even though the pictures had ended, the sounds had continued. **  
  
** Originally, Felicity had believed this two-way-communication between Oliver and the Foundry to be a brilliant idea. Listening in, hearing what was going on, being able to react instantly if things didn’t go The Hood’s way had seemed like a perfect way to ease her mind. **  
  
** Turns out, it wasn’t. **  
  
** Sitting in the Foundry with Diggle, trying to decipher what the sounds hitting her ears meant, had only been slightly better than not knowing. Felicity found it hard to breathe as she analyzed the clinking, clacking, and thuds. Luckily, the fight only lasted a few minutes. It didn’t take long for The Hood to say, “It’s over. Come with me.” Felicity knew that he was addressing Roy, but it was also the signal for her that things were good, that Oliver was fine. **  
  
** Tension she hadn’t noticed fled from her. Relaxing in her seat, she sank back and took a deep breath. **  
  
** “You need to get used to that. Otherwise I’m really afraid for your blood pressure.” John Diggle’s voice brought her back to the Foundry. He sat next to her, looking at her intensely, a hint of a smile on his face. **  
  
** “I know.” Felicity admitted, leaning her head back. “That’s easier said than done.” **  
  
** “Oliver knows what he’s doing,” John said softly. “You really don’t need to be worried about him. His training’s solid.” **  
  
** To a solider that probably sounded calming. To a woman in love, it didn’t. **  
  
** Felicity hadn’t been in the Foundry much lately. Her company had kept her busy, and distracted her from what it meant when Oliver pulled up his hood and went out there. But the sounds of fighting had brought back very distinct memories—all distinctly unpleasant. She had witnessed Oliver being hurt too often already: getting poisoned by Vertigo, getting shot at by an assassin, getting hit by a grenade, getting beat up by another archer—and those were just the things that came to her at the top of her head. Those were the things she knew about, but she knew that there were things he kept from her. Felicity saw the bloodstains on his shirts when he came home, saw the home-sown cuts when he climbed into bed with her. **  
  
** “Of course, I need to worry about him,” she objected. “Somebody has to.” **  
  
** John’s previously dim smile turned deeper. “Fair enough. But you need to come to terms with it. This is what Oliver does, and it’s dangerous.” **  
  
** “I know,” she sighed. “It’s just… there have been so many close calls.” **  
  
** “There are more fights going perfectly smooth and his way. Focus on those.” **  
  
** “You’re right. I don’t know why I’m so worried today.” **  
  
** “Maybe, because Oliver’s out there rescuing somebody who matters to his sister, who matters to both of you.” **  
  
**

“Maybe.” But the tone in Felicity’s voice turned that word into a ‘definitely.’ Swiveling with her chair, she turned to John and let her eyes glide over him. “Since I’m worrying: you look tired. As much as I’m hoping Carly kept you up, or AJ, I’m afraid it was neither.” **  
  
** “It wasn’t,” he admitted and shrunk a little on his chair. John was a man made of muscles, huge and strong, but the way he was holding himself made him look smaller than he was. His shoulders slumped, his chest was tucked in, his body seemingly constructed to fight lost part of its energy. It was a distressing sight to witness, but it triggered understanding within Felicity. **  
  
** She leaned her had back, studying him. “Oliver told me about the promise he gave you,” she told him. “Are you sure about this?” **  
  
** “The man who killed my brother is out there, Felicity. There’s nothing that I am surer of than the fact that I want him found and dealt with.” **  
  
** “Dealt with. That sounds so clean,” Felicity shook her head, objecting to the sterility of this sentence. “But if there’s one thing I’ve realized it’s that this whole thing’s messy. There isn’t black or white, only variations of grey.” **  
  
** “I was a soldier, Felicity. I killed people.” **  
  
** “But this is different—and you know that it is. You are the kind of person who knows the difference between war and vendetta. And I mean that in the best way: you are the kind of person who should be more wary of what Oliver’s doing, of what he’s offering you.” **  
  
** Silently John looked at Felicity, taking her in, thinking. Then he straightened up a little, some of his strength returned to his posture. “When I was in Afghanistan,” he told her, his face open and his eyes never leaving hers, “My unit was tasked with protecting this local war lord. Golem Quadir. He was less than human. Sold opium. Sold children. One day, we were accompanying him to Mosul when my convoy was ambushed by insurgents. We had them outgunned. Fire fight didn’t last more than a minute. When the smoke cleared I moved in on their position. They were all dead. I knew which one I had killed. When I pulled off his keffiyeh I could see it was just a kid, no more than eighteen. Shot him in the throat. I killed this kid to protect this human piece of garbage, and I thought: am I still good? Am I still a good man? Doing this with Oliver; doing what we do, I feel good again for the first time in a long time. The people he takes out, the people we go after, are bad people. Floyd Lawton is a bad man. He deserves to die. He deserves to pay for what he did. That’s very black and white to me.” **  
  
** Felicity didn’t agree, she couldn’t. His whole story reeked of the grey-scales she had mentioned to him, of the right within the wrong. She had encountered that very often lately: people doing wrong things for the right reasons. Her family, the family she had come to feel a full part of in the last months, the family she consciously chose to belong to, was the master at that. Oliver led the club, but Moira had turned the justification of (self-)righteous wrongfulness into an art form. **  
  
** In all honesty: Felicity could relate to it, to doing wrong for the right reasons. She understood the reasoning and the feelings that drive their actions. Even though she knew she should be appalled, she wasn’t. Much the opposite, she had decided to aid them, to help them do it. And right now she could help John Diggle get his closure—the way to get there, to end this episode of his life, didn’t feel as wrong as it would have six months ago. With her own history of dubious decisions, she really didn’t have any right to judge. **  
  
** She reached for her purse and took a brown envelope out. “This is everything I gathered on Lawton. The last person he killed was a senator here in California. So, he’s close by.” **  
  
** Looking a little awed, John reached for the envelope. “That’s…. Thank you.” **  
  
** “Don’t thank me. I just needed to make sure that you wanted this, John. You’re a friend and I’ll help you any way I can. I know Oliver’s not good with saying it, but he feels the same.” She smiled. “Plus, I worry a little less, knowing that you have Oliver’s back out there. Thank you for looking out for him.” **  
  
** John answered her smile with one of his own. “Of course, Felicity. I’m his bodyguard. I’m yours, too. I’ll always be there.” **  
  
** “What we’re doing is crazy. When did this become our reality?”  
  
“When Oliver came back. I blame this on him completely.” **  
  
** “Of course,” Felicity mocked, “it’s all his fault.” **  
  
** “What did I do now?” Oliver appeared behind the training dummy and looked at the two people sitting by Felicity’s desk. Even though his voice was tense, there was no aggression audible in it—even if the way he was holding himself told Felicity that aggravation was a possibility for the foreseeable future. **  
  
** Swiveling another ninety degrees with her chair, Felicity turned toward him completely. “You made our lives more complicated.” Hearing her own words, she sensed the possible guilt they could cause within Oliver and hurried to add, “And more meaningful.” **  
  
** Oliver placed his bow on his workbench and walked over to them. Ignoring the last statement, he said. “I need to get upstairs and check on Thea.” **  
  
** “Oh, as far as I saw on the security feeds, Roy’s thoroughly checking—” Oliver’s face darkened at her words and Felicity swallowed the rest of that sentence. “Yes,” she encouraged instead, “you should change and look after Thea.” **  
  
** Sighing, Oliver reached for the zipper of his leather-jacket when he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes were on the computer monitor. He frowned. “What’s that?” **  
  
** John followed his eyes and answered, “Felicity pulled that up. It’s an old map of the decommissioned subway line, runs underneath the low rent district of the city.” **  
  
** “I’ve seen that before.” Oliver’s words were searching as his eyes were glued to the image on the screen. Suddenly, he shot around, marched toward his workbench, and reached for the book resting next to his bow. With forceful steps he moved next to Felicity and held the opened book to the screen.  
  
Felicity saw it, too. **  
  
** Slowly she reached for the worn-out notebook, taking it from Oliver. “How did I miss that before?” she breathed. **  
  
** “Well, you didn’t stare at it for years like I did.” The tension was creeping back into Oliver’s voice. In a forceful gesture he waved his hand toward the opened book. “It was right in front of our noses the whole time. In front of my nose!” **  
  
** John leaned close to Felicity. Both stared at the flyleaf and the symbol situated in the middle of the yellowing page. It had never been more than a fancy-looking set of lines to Felicity, it had been meaningless and nothing she had thought about much. But suddenly the meaning was clear: this symbol was a detail taken from the underground map, and the cutout was originated in a very specific part of town. **  
  
** “My father, Merlyn, the other archer, the Undertaking, whatever the plan is...” Oliver stiffened with each word he spoke, “it’s all connected to the Glades.” Looking down at Felicity, he said, “You need to stop pushing it off and finish that program.” It was a clear order, a forceful demand. “We need to know what’s going on.” **  
  
** Damn it, they were both right: Oliver and John, they both had a point. She couldn’t give in to her worries any longer and avoid coding the virus Oliver would use to break into Merlyn Global. This was their reality, this was what they did, and she had to do her part. No matter how wrong it felt, it was the right thing to do. “Okay,” she stated, “I’ll make it my priority.” 


	35. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I know this story is a marathon bordering on a triathlon, but I am honestly grateful that so many of you are sticking with it and with me. Thank you so much for your support, wonderful feedback, and love you’re sending my way. It means the world to me. I can’t thank you enough.
> 
> **Albiona** was wonderful enough to fix my grammar and improve this chapter. She’ll forever be my unicorn of awesome.
> 
> And now let’s move plot to finally bring this story to the home-stretch. Love, Jules

****April 3 rd, 2013**  
**   
Wind was tearing at him, catching in his hood and nearly pulling it back. He fell toward the earth, gravity digging its claws into him, dragging him down mercilessly until he was suddenly jerked back upward. His parachute opened with a distinct ‘clack’ taken away by the wind. His decent toward the ground was slowed but still steady and it only took ten seconds for his feet to touch down on. He had hit his mark perfectly, landing exactly where he wanted to be: on top of Merlyn Global’s headquarters. **  
**  
With trained skill he got rid of the parachute. More than cloth and strings, it was state of the art A.R.G.U.S.-technology that he had never given back after freeing Felicity from that cell in Bludhaven. Pressing one button was enough to make the parachute fold itself with a forceful “swoosh” into a handy square he reattached to his back. **  
**  
Keeping his head low and his feet bent, The Hood walked toward the housing storing the motor of the elevator. Due to the blueprints Felicity made him study, he knew exactly what to do, where to apply pressure. He worked methodically and quietly; only seconds later the panel rested against the housing. Felicity had been right: it was a tight fit. Diggle had also been right: it was the safest access point.   
Bringing his hand to his chest, he activated the communication system. “I’m in position. Do it.” **  
**  
The faint sound of typing sounded through the connection, ending with a click that was a little more forceful, Felicity hitting the enter button followed by an “It’s done.” **  
**  
He didn’t need the vocal confirmation. He could see the results: darkness rolled through the city. The steady glow that had illuminated the streets stretching out far below him vanished. The logo spelling out ‘Merlyn Global’ went out, leaving Oliver in sudden darkness, the moon and stars well-covered by clouds. **  
**  
Without hesitation, Oliver snapped two light sticks and tucked them underneath the strap of his quiver. He was already moving when he whispered, “I’m going in.” **  
**  
“Leave the line open.” **  
**  
Felicity’s voice was calm as it hit his ears and he was thankful for that. He was aware that it was her version of asking him to be careful. He knew she had a bad feeling about what he was about to do, and he appreciated that she didn’t make this any harder for him than it already was. **  
**  
In the same spirit, he didn’t press the button his hand was already hovering over to cut communications. Instead, he simply climbed into the housing, twisting to fit through the small hole. The green glow of the light sticks surrounded him as he moved carefully, squeezing himself past the winding motor. He had to crawl and duck, to balance and tear open another panel, then he poked his head through a hole. Only darkness greeted him, but he knew the elevator shaft gaped thirty stories below him. **  
**  
He tugged one glow stick free from the strap of his quiver and let it drop. It fell, a green beacon descending into the blackness, until it hit a surface with a faint thud. The light marked his destination, six floors below. He rooted a hook in the panel next to his head. Attaching a handle to the cable, he let himself fall. Adrenaline flooded his senses, speeding up his heartbeat and creating a positive rush he wouldn’t let himself be distracted by. Clinging to his concentration, he shot downward, the walls racing past him, but almost instantly he pressed a button and his decent slowed. **  
**  
Once again he landed soundlessly, this time on top of the elevator positioned on the twenty-fourth floor. His destination lay one floor above him, separated by a second elevator shaft. He aimed a rope-arrow at a metal bar above the gap, let the rope pull him up, swung across the gaping hole, and stood on a tiny ledge with his nose practically pressed against the metal doors of the elevator. Using all of his strength, he tore the doors open and stepped onto the plush carpet of the executive floor. **  
**  
Darkness surrounded him. All the lights in the windowless hall were out, which told him that Diggle’s trip to the main emergency generator had gone unnoticed. Deactivating it had been necessary to make sure the surveillance system was offline, to avoid security tapes of The Hood breaking into Merlyn Global. He walked with purpose down the hall, around the corner, and toward the door leading to his destination. It wasn’t locked and he slipped into the room. **  
**  
Cold welcomed him, a steady buzzing created by the technology filling the room. Felicity had been right: the mainframe had a separate, second emergency power generator so everything in here was still on. “I’m in,” he informed her. **  
**  
She answered immediately. “Seven minutes.” He could hear how tense she was just in the way she said those two words. She sent an unspoken ‘hurry’ his way that he felt was entirely uncalled for: if he had seven minutes left until the emergency generator started its controlled shutdown of the mainframe due to the continued power loss, he had only needed three minutes to get from the roof to the server room. That was a pretty flawless performance that didn’t justify her attitude—even if it wasn’t exactly a negative one. **  
**  
But since he intended to keep up this flawless performance and snapping at your wife during an important mission was the exact opposite of that, he ignored her statement and checked his surroundings. Carefully, he let his eyes travel over the server cabinets which were filled with hard disks – or something – and lots of blinking lights. He had seen Firestorm’s mainframe, but this was much bigger, much more impressive—not that he’d tell Felicity. Finding the access port Felicity had described to him in huge – entirely unnecessary – detail, he moved toward it to plug the security fob in. **  
**  
A light blinking red indicated that the fob was working. He stared at it, willing the light to switch to green and signal that the search was finished, that necessary information was copied to the fob and that a backdoor was installed, giving Felicity access to the system. Pressing his lips together, he stood there. Being reduced to waiting tore at him and made him feel strangely vulnerable. He exhaled noisily. This was taking too long. **  
**  
“It’s only been a minute,” Felicity said. “I told you, it could take five minutes, three’s the minimum.” A few seconds of silence followed before her voice reached his ears again. “I’m sure there are petabytes of data that need to be scanned. If it’s anything like Queen Consolidated’s system, it’s huge. Even though, I’m sure QC’s mainframe is even bigger since it has more employees, more subsidiaries. It’s more international—” He could practically see her shake her head at herself. “Wow, that sounds a lot like a weird form of penis-comparison but I didn’t mean actual, measurable size. When it comes to computers size really doesn’t matter. Data-wise, the smallest thing can be huge, like powerful…. Why haven’t you snapped at me yet? Keep me from going down that metal track. Even though, we both know that at the end there’s an ego-boost waiting for you, so you’re probably not stopping me on purpose. Which is why I’ll stop myself. In three. Two. One.” **  
**  
He could hear her take a deep breath. Amusement stirred within him, but he couldn’t let that come to the surface. He had to focus and couldn’t give in to the distraction that was Felicity and her mouth running away from her, making him think about things that weren’t helpful in this situation. Especially, since he knew that her ramble was a sign of her nervousness, of that fact that the tension filling her more and more was close to breaking free. He needed her head in the game, he needed her to focus, just like he needed to focus himself. **  
**  
Ignoring everything she had said, he asked, “Are you getting anything?” **  
**  
“Not yet.” **  
**  
He waited, but she left it at that, sounding more in charge again. She had composed herself in the time it took to take three breaths. A strange sense of pride filled him. She is an extraordinary woman. **  
**  
The soft humming of the working computers surrounded him while he listened carefully for any unwanted sounds coming from the hall. His eyes were glued to the security fob. Every part of him willed the green light to appear—but the red blinking continued. **  
**  
“How long?” **  
**  
“Four minutes.” **  
**  
He had told her to count down, to give him the time left until the mainframe shut down. That meant he had been waiting here for three minutes. It felt longer to him. Like a statue he stood frozen into place, following the behavioral pattern that had been drilled into him: when on assignment there’s no fidgeting, no shuffling around. There’s only focusing at the task at hand, staying in charge of the situation, and patience. The latter was an illusion he surrounded himself with, he knew. He wasn’t a patient man, he hated watching, listening, waiting, but it was all he could do. **  
**  
The soft sound hitting his ears told him Felicity would say something before she actually did. “The backdoor’s installed. I can track the progress now. Hold up.” **  
**  
The familiar clicking of fingers flying over a keyboard calmed him. Even if it was Felicity taking action, one of them was doing something. **  
**  
“Wow, that’s a crazy amount of data,” she told him. “I was wrong before: this is a monster of a mainframe, way bigger than QC’s.” She sounded preoccupied as she talked, and he knew that she was more voicing her thoughts than really addressing him. “And complex. All of this seems excessive. Even for a Future 500 company. There shouldn’t be that much data.” **  
**  
She went back to typing silently and he was partly convinced that she had lost herself in her work so much that she had forgotten about him when her urgent voice hit his ears. “Take the fob out. Now.” **  
**  
Not questioning the fact that the thing still hadn’t given him the green light or hesitating, he followed her order. **  
**  
The urgency in Felicity’s voice managed to increase. “Get out. _Now_.” **  
**  
He was already heading back to the door when the constant buzzing of the technology changed. The mainframe was powering down – if he hadn’t messed up his silent counting, which he knew he hadn’t – two minutes early. Listening carefully, he opened the door. The hall lay in silence, there weren’t any footsteps, signaling that somebody was coming his way, no yells, no signs that he had been noticed. And in that second it hit him: he wasn’t the one needing to prepare for battle, it was Felicity who was already fighting. **  
**  
Slipping into the hall, he hurried back toward the elevator. “Major Badass?” **  
**  
“I’m taking care of him. You get out of there. I’m sure he’s alerting security.” **  
**  
She was all business, calm and in charge. Her head was in the game, and he needed it to stay there. She had caught that Chinese hacker before, she could do it again, or escape him, or whatever she was doing. Knowing that this time it was his turn to stay quiet and not become a distraction, he did as she told him. **  
**  
The metal elevator doors he’d pried open stood waiting for him. He ran toward the gap and jumped, pushing himself off on the edge. Twenty-five floors yawned below as he flew through the air, crossing to the green glow where the light stick rested on top of the elevator. **  
**  
He landed heavily, for once causing a loud bang to ring though the vertical tunnel stretching out above and below him. Not wasting any time, he picked up the glow stick and jumped up to grab the handle dangling above him. One press of a button later, he was shooting upward again. Climbing through the hole, squeezing past the motor didn’t take much time and soon he was back on the roof to reset the panel. The city was still dark. By Felicity’s calculations it would take at least thirty minutes to reboot the system supplying power to Starling City’s business district, and the whole trip to Merlyn Global had taken exactly twelve minutes. Time to go and meet Diggle at the corner of Ocean and Grant. **  
**  
He ran to the edge of the rooftop. He jumped, he fell, wind once again tearing at him. He enjoyed the adrenaline uproar for a second, but he knew that was all he could allow himself. With one push of his fingers, the parachute unfolded behind him, jerking him a few meters higher.  
  
It was done. Now he just hoped all of this was worth it. **  
**  
  
  
**April 4 th, 2013**  
  
This was worse than she had feared. **  
**  
At the same time, it was exactly what they had hoped for: in the depth of data Oliver had brought back on the security fob were some answers to questions that had nagged at them for months. The answers weren’t all bad, there were some good news woven in there, but they were thoroughly interlaced with so much bad stuff that Felicity knew that the night ahead would be sleepless. There was absolutely no way she wouldn’t stay up with Oliver while he worked through all of the shit she would have to tell him. **  
**  
At the moment Oliver was out trying to answer another highly disturbing question: how The Count could have escaped from Starling City’s asylum with a new version of Vertigo in his pocket. Oliver himself had deemed The Count completely out of it due to an overdose of his own poison. **  
**  
Felicity could never approve of a highly lethal and addictive drug flooding the streets, but she had to admit that Oliver being busy with that gave her time to go through the Merlyn-files. **  
**  
Merlyn-files—Felicity liked the name she had come up with for the collected data. It had a nice ring to it, she thought, made the whole thing sound better than it really was. The files were thick in the figurative sense, meaning a terabyte of assembled information, consisting of documents, pictures, blueprints, saved emails, bank paperwork, and audio and video files. The data mining program Felicity’d coded had stumbled over an archive that could be labeled ‘irrefutable evidence leaving no reasonable doubt.’ Felicity understood why someone might want to hold on to all those things, store it as leverage or whatever, but at the same time she couldn’t help but think that saving all this incriminatory information in the same place was stupidly reckless. **  
**  
Checking the files made Felicity curse Major Badass even more. Installing the backdoor had tipped him off. Felicity (since dealing with somebody who claimed to be major badass, she seriously wondered if she needed a cool hacker-name, too) had feared that it might. She had taken a chance with it, had known that the changes implemented in the code would be pretty obvious—especially, since it was based on something that her nemesis (maybe, the word was a bit strong, but she had always wanted an arch-enemy and Major Badass was a worthy opponent) had come up with in the first place. She had warned Oliver of the risk that came with it. She had done so, even though she knew that he would tell her to do it. (Of course he had. If he hadn’t she might have feared for a sudden snow storm in hell and the devil catching a cold.) But it had seemed only fair to leave the ultimate decision up to him—after all, he was the one inside the skyscraper if all the alarms went off. **  
**  
Luckily, Felicity had managed to push that back until Oliver had left the building—aka the roof of the building. He hadn’t told her about his plan to jump off a thirty stories skyscraper with a parachute. In hindsight, Felicity was glad that she hadn’t thought to ask about his escape-route… That wouldn’t have mixed well with her resolution not to go all wifly on Oliver when he pulled up his hood. But while Oliver floated to the ground with the help of an overly expensive (stolen) piece of equipment, Felicity didn’t have time to worry about that: she had been busy keeping Major Badass in check, shaking him while avoiding all her usual coding tricks and habits. She had to make sure that the other hacker couldn’t connect the person he found in Merlyn Global’s system to the CEO of Firestorm, Inc.  
  
The first thing Major Failure had done was try to infiltrate the security fob. When that hadn’t worked, he had retreated to shutting down the server to make it impossible for them to steal any more data. That had been a smart move. It had also worked. Felicity knew that the Merlyn-files were incomplete. Very crucial information was missing. **  
**  
Sadly, she couldn’t tell Yongtak about this field-test, but their new software had really proven itself. The Chinese hacker had tried to use the backdoor to get to Felicity—and failed, _majorly_. **  
**  
By Felicity’s calculations that should put her in the lead with two to one. **  
**  
Besting your nemesis was a really good feeling, Felicity had to admit.  
  
Chances were very good that the missing information would make Oliver even angrier than the one they had gathered. **  
**  
Felicity just decided that that equaled a draw, keeping her in the lead in the battle of the hackers, when she heard heavy footsteps coming down the stairs; Oliver and John were back. She turned with her chair. The way Oliver walked and held his shoulders told Felicity that his trip to the aquarium hadn’t gone well. There, a man hopped up on the new Vertigo had first looked at pretty fishes, (the aquarium probably was a really good place to trip—if you were into that sort of thing), only to then wave a gun around and fire at a security camera, leaving Felicity blind. **  
**  
An angry frown darkening Oliver’s handsome face was revealed as he forcefully pulled his hood back. It confirmed Felicity’s suspicion: he wasn’t happy. **  
**  
That was probably the worst precondition for their upcoming talk. **  
**  
She met John’s eyes as Oliver forced himself to set his bow down gently on his workbench. “The guy died before we could hit him with the antidote,” John offered. “How did things go here?” **  
**  
Felicity’s inner debate about delaying telling Oliver what she found out died. She probably wouldn’t have done it anyway because they had this whole honesty-thing working for them, but that didn’t change the fact that she dreaded filling him in. At least John’s question gave Felicity the chance for an angry glare of her own—even though, the soldier was completely unimpressed with it. **  
**  
“I’m done looking through the Merlyn-files.” **  
**  
That sentence got the men’s attention. Oliver’s posture turned even more rigid. Standing next to his workbench, he turned to her, freezing into position. Felicity wished he would sit down, but she knew him and she knew not to ask him to do so. Every time she had asked him to have an aggravating conversation sitting down, he had shot up within one minute. So, Felicity simply got up from her seat as well. **  
**  
In response, Oliver’s shoulders squared even more. John crossed his arms over his chest. Yes, their respective body languages were perfectly clear. Their states of mind were spelled out in billboard-sized letters, illuminated, and blinking. They were all pretty obvious. As was Oliver’s silent demand to tell him what she found and to spare him any lengthy explanations. She knew him and she knew what he needed now: hard facts that could be surrounded by and explained in further detail later. **  
**  
So, she simply said it. “Malcolm Merlyn bombed the _Queen’s Gambit_.” **  
**  
A telling lot of nothing was Oliver’s first reaction. He didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t say anything. He simply stood there, returning her gaze. Felicity could practically see the information sink in and start tearing at him. His first instinct was to avoid her eyes. Emotions took over his face, utter despair, pain, desperation, turning his eyes watery, opening his mouth as breath hitched in his throat. He exhaled deliberately and slowly to steady his breathing. But for once that didn’t seem to be enough. He brought his fingertips up to his eyebrows, closed his eyes while blowing air out through his nose. Letting his hands fall down, he straightened up, turning into a stiff statue again with his arms hanging by his sides. Felicity saw his thumb connect with his index finger. He looked at her. “Malcolm’s responsible.” **  
**  
It was a statement, not a question. Felicity appreciated that he spared himself the breath to ask if she was sure. She was glad that he didn’t waste their time like this. He knew she wouldn’t have said it if she wasn’t sure. He trusted her to give him proven information. **  
**  
Still, she nodded. “Yes. I found the blueprints of the yacht and the transfer of $250,000 to Guillermo Barrera. Apparently, he’s good with bombs. And knives—which is a detail you omitted when you told me about him, by the way—” **  
**  
Seeing the look on Oliver’s face, she forced her tongue to stop moving. By this, she managed to keep from asking him if he agreed with her that it was kind of ironic that Oliver had killed Barrera, the killer who had been hired by Merlyn to kill Oliver with a bomb, when Barrera had been in town to kill Merlyn, who Oliver most definitely regretted saving from the killer who had been hired as a substitute. **  
**  
That chain of events was as messed up and hard to follow as that whole damn sentence. **  
**  
Quite a few steps were separating Oliver from Felicity and Diggle. The bodyguard had moved to sit on the edge of Felicity’s desk. Felicity saw Oliver’s fingers circle each other in a dangerously slow pace and that visual kept her on the other side of the med table, too. Oliver needed space and she gave it to him. **  
**  
His voice calm and reasonable, John stated, “I guess it’s safe to say Robert Queen was the target.” He addressed Felicity, resting his gaze on her. It was a tactic they had successfully used before: John and Felicity would just discuss this, reasonably, giving Oliver the time to gather his thoughts and emotions and to join in whenever he was ready. **  
**  
Slowly she nodded. “Yes, I agree. Oliver wasn’t supposed to be on that boat. Robert was the target. But I don’t know why. Sadly, there wasn’t some long blog entry explaining Merlyn’s actions. But there were blueprints of the warehouse Moira stored the wreck in. Merlyn found out about it around the same time Walter did. From what I found, Moira wasn’t involved in the bombing.” **  
**  
John nodded, jumping on the one good aspect in all of this. “That’s good news.” **  
**  
“It is,” Felicity agreed wholeheartedly. “It’s a relief.” **  
**  
“Do you know where the wreck is?” **  
**  
The answer to John’s question was yes and no. Felicity kept from sighing. “Merlyn had people move it—and destroy it.” **  
**  
“The wreck’s gone?” Oliver asked quietly, but a certain hardness crept into his voice. To Felicity it was a clear sign that the countdown to his explosion had begun. **  
**  
“Yes.” Felicity saw that the hardness had also entered his features. **  
**  
“The Undertaking,” he spoke measuredly. “What did you find out about that?” **  
**  
Subconsciously, Felicity licked her lips in a nervous gesture. This was the other bad part. “There was a folder labeled Undertaking on the fob, but apart from a file with the address of a warehouse, it was empty. I don’t think we managed to copy all of it.” **  
**  
“So, we have nothing?” Oliver summed up, the anger clearly growing inside him and adding fuel to the explosive countdown. **  
**  
“No,” Felicity corrected, “we have an address. That’s not nothing.” **  
**  
Oliver pressed his lips together while John said, “It’s a lead to follow. I’ll check it out tomorrow. Neither of you should go near that warehouse.” **  
**  
Felicity nodded. “Yes, that sounds like a plan.” **  
**  
If Oliver agreed he didn’t tell them. Instead, he said, “I know you found more. Tell me, Felicity.”  
**  
**She swallowed unnecessarily, her throat dry. “My…” She took a short breath, “kidnapping. Merlyn hired the kidnappers. There’s a video of me in the locked room. He sent it to Walter.” **  
**  
His anger snapped into fury. Roaring, Oliver threw the workbench onto its side. The machines, the tools, the metal he used to make his arrowheads, the mug filled with leftovers of long forgotten coffee, and – most importantly – his bow clattered to the floor in a deafening crash that echoed from the bare walls. Shards were sliding over the floor, brown liquid was spilling with a splash, the drill knocked a dent into the concrete floor. **  
**  
The sudden explosion of noise was followed by silence. Breathing heavily, Oliver stood over the mess he had made and it was obvious that it had done nothing to help him vent his anger. His hands were clenched into fists, his chest was visibly rising and falling, and his muscles were flexed. He was strained like a rubber band, ready to snap. **  
**  
And then all the fight left him. **  
**  
The sudden and unexpected deflating was accentuated by a thud as Oliver let himself drop onto the seat behind him, the one that always stood next to the workbench he had tipped over. He sat with his shoulders slumped forward, his chin nearly resting on his chest, his breathing calculated. Seeing him like that spurred Felicity into moving but she only managed to take two steps before Oliver said in an unfamiliarly pleading way, “Please, don’t.” **  
**  
The memory of a moment shared in her Firestorm office when she had asked him to keep his distance so that she could regain her composure rooted her to the spot. Still, he met her eyes. The blue in his was paler, lightened by the wetness collecting but not spilling. He cleared his throat, but his voice was weak when he said, “It was all him.” He shook his head, quickly, dimly, like he couldn’t believe it. **  
**  
Felicity dug her brain for something, anything, to say to make him feel better, but she came up empty. Because Oliver had just summed up the whole dilemma up perfectly: everything that had happened to him, every horrible torturous day of his life basically came back to Malcolm Merlyn. His best friend’s father, a man he knew since childhood, had tried to kill Oliver’s father and in turn was responsible for Oliver spending five years in hell, for the time away that had changed Oliver and had made him suffer and live through unspeakable experiences. Finding words to shed a positive light on _that_ felt like a mission impossible.  
**  
**“Malcolm Merlyn.” Oliver spat the name out, made it sound like a curse, like the worst expletive imaginable. His face hardened along with it, his eyes had dried, turned darker with the anger returning to him. The thought that he was really riding an emotional rollercoaster right now (thankfully) got stuck on the way from Felicity’s brain to her mouth as Oliver shot up from his seat again. **  
**  
He took two steps into the mess he had created and this time Felicity knew what to say. “Don’t you _dare_ pick up that bow!” **  
**  
He didn’t. Instead, he snapped around to face her. “He’s responsible!” Oliver snarled, his voice growing louder. “For EVERYTHING!” **  
**  
“I know, i—” **  
**  
“NO, Felicity, you DON’T! It was HIM. This whole time, and I suspected NOTHING! He played me. During dinner at the mansion, at Tommy’s. He sat there, small-talking, when he is the ONLY ONE who should be on my list!” **  
**  
“O—” **  
**  
“He tried to kill my father. He threatened my mother. He had you kidnapped. Drove Walter to New York!” **  
**  
“He got you stranded on that island,” Felicity offered to complete the list, because that had to be included. **  
**  
“Yes.” Oliver pressed that word out as he stared at her. His eyes were pools of aggression, his whole body was getting battle ready. “His time’s up.” **  
**  
“You are in no condition to engage him.” John, the bravest man alive if you asked Felicity, stated calmly. “Especially if Merlyn brings the other archer in. You’re not in the headspace to confront either of them.”  
**  
**The expression crossing Oliver’s face showed them that he knew how absolutely right his partner was. But Felicity knew that he was stubborn enough not to care. She crossed the gap that was separating them. “Oliver, John is right, and you know he is.” She took his hand in hers. “You can’t blindly rush at Merlyn. That won’t end well. And you’ll only end up tipping him off that we’re on to him. We still know nothing about The Undertaking.” In the way Oliver’s body tightened next to her, she sensed the upcoming objection. Keeping him from voicing it, she let go of his hand and cupped his cheek. “I’m not saying ‘don’t engage Merlyn.’ I’m saying ‘don’t engage him _now_.’” **  
**  
“He… targeted my family, the people I love. I don’t care about the fucking Undertaking.” **  
**  
Her hand added gentle pressure to his cheek. “Yes, you do. Because we know whatever The Undertaking is it’s bigger than this family. It’s important and doing this right matters.” **  
**  
A little of the tension left his body, his hand found her hand that wasn’t cupping his cheek. She could practically see him thinking, trying to come up with one reason why he should storm out of the Foundry instantly and kick Malcolm Merlyn’s ass. **  
**  
But he knew as well as Felicity did that there wasn’t one. In fact, there were many reasons not to. “I know you hate the man, but he’s your best friend’s father. You need to do this right. This is not about venting anger or even revenge. This is about so much more.” **  
**  
He closed his eyes for a second, pressing his lips together hard. **  
**  
In the silence that came with this gesture a sudden beeping sounded from Felicity’s computer. Diggle turned toward the screen next to him and jumped up. **  
**  
“What now?!” was all Felicity could think—and apparently it also left her lips. **  
**  
“It’s the Deadshot alarm. He booked a flight to Starling City. He’ll be here next week.” **  
**  
“Of course,” Felicity sighed, letting her hand drop from Oliver’s face, “the two people on our most wanted list demand attention at the same time. Why didn’t Lawton come to town last week? We had free time then.” **  
**  
Not letting go of Felicity’s hand, Oliver turned to his partner. The two men looked at each other. There was some silent communication going on. Felicity wondered when that had started but found that she approved. Those two often held each other’s life in their hands, protecting each other in the field. Understanding each other perfectly could only be a good thing. **  
**  
Still, Felicity felt like she needed some actual words to be spoken. “Guys, we can’t take on both of them. And don’t forget The Count. His drug killed another person tonight.” **  
**  
“You’re right.” Oliver nodded and glanced at her quickly before placing his attention back to John. “Since we need to gather more information on The Undertaking, and we have one more week ‘til Deadshot’s arrival, The Count’s our priority for now. Lance ordered a toxicology report, maybe that will give us some hints. But we also need to prepare for Lawton. Merlyn’ll have to wait until we take him out.” **  
**  
Felicity started at Oliver. Seriously? He managed to surprise her with that one. But she knew how he had come to this decision when he continued, his eyes still on the other man. “I gave you a promise and I intent to keep it.” **  
**  
Thankfulness merged with rising tension on John’s face. The collected calm that had surrounded him while Oliver had completely lost it was gone. He cleared his throat before he said, “I’ll give the information Felicity found on Deadshot to my A.R.G.U.S-contact. Maybe she can get involved and help us with this. At the same time, we’ll work on The Count, take him down. And I’ll follow the only lead we have about The Undertaking and check the warehouse.” **  
**  
“Sounds like a plan.” **  
**  
With one forceful nod, John headed toward the stairs, but halted after a few steps. He turned back to Oliver. “Thank you. I promise you that we’ll get Merlyn. We’ll stop him and we’ll make him pay.” **  
**  
“Yes,” Oliver nodded. “We’ll get Deadshot.” **  
**  
Felicity watched John leave and wondered how she had ended up with two such vengeful men and how she had ended up understanding their respective needs for revenge so perfectly. Hearing the heavy metal door above fall into its frame, Felicity turned to Oliver. “Are you okay?” She heard her own question and couldn’t help but feel like it sounded stupid. So she hurried to add, “Apart from finding out that the father of your best friend is pure evil. Basically a diabolical spawn of Satan.” **  
**  
He snorted. “Oh, yeah. Apart from that I’m perfect.” **  
**  
“I’m sorry, Oliver.” She took a step toward him, wrapped her arms around him, and rested her cheek against his chest. “I know all of this must come as shock. There’s so much to keep track of right now.” **  
**  
His heartbeat was fast under her ear. It sounded like aggravation and Felicity couldn’t blame him. His arms closed around her, too, and for a second they stood in silence. Oliver ended it with a whisper. “Before you showed me the wreck, it never occurred to me that anything other than the storm could have brought the _Gambit_ down.” The confession barely made it to Felicity’s ears. “Thank you.”  
**  
** She smiled against his chest. “Always, Oliver.”


	36. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys and girls, I apologize for making you wait longer than usual. Life’s simply been very busy, but I hope to make it up to you with a chapter that’s also a little longer than usual. Thank you for your patience and your general awesomeness. I am grateful you’re on this journey with me. I hope you like this chapter. :)
> 
> A special shout-out to [MellieTheAmazing](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11280533/1/Lo-Que-Sucedi%C3%B3-En-Las-Vegas) over at ff.net who’s attempting to translate this story into Spanish. She's crazy to do this, but I love it.
> 
>  **Albiona** , my unicorn-muse in rainbow colors, thank you for hanging in here with me. (I love the reverse ‘verse. And I love you!)

**April 6 th, 2013  
  
**Oliver had many habits Felicity didn’t exactly approve of.  
  
Regularly getting injected with Vertigo and nearly dying was very high on that list. _Very_. High.  
  
Last night, after The Hood confronted Dr. Webb, the psychiatrist who had hidden The Count in his quasi-basement (this city just spawned the crazy like… well, crazy), Oliver had swayed back into the Foundry, seeing double or probably triple. After all, he had aimed three arrows at the psychiatrist taking over The Count’s drug making business to ensure that at least one of them hit the bad guy. Felicity didn’t know how many hands Oliver believed her to have, but he had missed all of them and had instead reached for thin air in his attempt to assure her that he was perfectly okay. That had been an epic failure—as had the kiss he had aimed for her lips but planted on her nose. **  
  
** The only thing Felicity could to do then was get him home and into bed. God, she kind of wished she’d use the latter expression under different circumstances. Much less platonic circumstances.  
  
Oliver had been sleeping for eight hours now, a personal Oliver Queen record since he had returned to Starling City. And, yes, he was sleeping. She had checked.  
  
Making sure your husband was still breathing must be the worst way to start the day. **  
  
** It rattled her so much that she had practically jumped out of the bed and onto her treadmill. Now, one hour later, she was on the homestretch of her morning run. **  
  
** The sun had risen and casted glistening highlights on the skyscrapers outside her windows. Her feet drumming down in a steady rhythm, the grogginess had slowly left her sleepy body, and Felicity had made a decision: John Diggle was right.  
  
The wise man that looked after her like the big brother she had never known she wanted had told her she needed to find a way to deal with the things Oliver did—and he hadn’t just been referring to the frequent arrow-ing. Felicity didn’t exactly know when it had happened (probably somewhere between getting shot at by a sniper, helping Oliver stopping murderous bank robbers, getting kidnapped, and seeing her sister-in-law’s boyfriend in mortal danger), but by now she was strangely unfazed by that aspect of vigilante-work.  
  
For all the fuzz she had made during her first visit to the Foundry, she had come around rather quickly. Somehow she had been sucked in, forgetting about ethical questions that should be asked.  
  
That had been a very worrying realization left to analyze for another morning. **  
  
** Today she had been busy accepting that she had to trust Oliver and in his abilities. She had seen enough of what he was capable of. He knew what he was doing when he put on his hood: he could fight, aim, and all that. **  
  
** The only thing he apparently sucked at was avoiding needles. **  
  
** He believed in his mission and he wouldn’t stop it. He would go and target Deadshot, he would confront Merlyn, he would probably end up fighting the other archer again, and Felicity couldn’t turn into a worried wreck over any of that. Oliver needed to do all that feeling fully confident and at ease. Her worrying over him wasn’t helping him, her, or the situation.  
  
Especially since he trusted her abilities perfectly. He never doubted her when she sat down in front of a computer. He’d never even considered that Major Badass might best her. When Felicity faced off with that other hacker, Oliver stayed quiet so she could concentrate and kick major ass. Afterward, he gave her a nod and a smile that told her he had never expected another outcome because he knew she knew what she was doing.  
  
This undoubting trust, the unwavering support, his unquestioning confidence, this unmatched pride was an unspoken compliment making Felicity feel light-headed and loved.  
  
Her own worries held her back from making him feel like that, too. And she hated it. All this wifely concern wasn’t working—neither for her nor for him.  
  
With the press of a button, she slowed the quickly rotating conveyer. Her running turned into a quick walk.  
  
Inhaling through the nose and exhaling through her mouth, she tried to steady her breathing and bring her heart-rate down.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
The hoarse voice startled her. She turned around and couldn’t help but smile. Sleep was still visible in Oliver’s slightly puffy face, imprinted by his pillow. His eyes were small, and the hair on the left side was stuck to his head. “Morning, sleepyhead,” she said.  
  
Only in his boxer briefs, Oliver scratched his chest and yawned. **  
  
** The smile glued itself to her face as she studied him for another moment, memorizing this unfamiliar sight. Deciding she had cooled down enough, she turned off her treadmill. She walked toward him. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” he answered, meeting her eyes. “I’m good.”  
  
“Really? No lingering effects from Vertigo?”  
  
“No, really, I’m fine.”  
  
Slowly, Felicity nodded. “Good.” She placed her hand flat against his naked chest and looked up at him, forcing him to meet her gaze. “I want you to know that I trust your abilities. As The Hood, I mean. You know what you’re doing, and I’m done going mother-hen on you.”  
  
“You’re done?” **  
  
** “I’m done,” she confirmed. “I will _not_ be the overly worried wife to your overprotective husband. So, I’ve come up with a new way to vent some frustrations.”  
  
“You did?”  
  
“I did.” She smirked. “Do you want me to show you?”  
  
“I do.”  
  
The smirk stayed in place, her hand slid over his chest—only to leave his skin and curl into a first. Forcefully, she brought her hand down onto his upper arm, hitting him hard and quickly. Her expression completely serious, her tone made it clear that she meant business. “Stop getting injected with Vertigo!”  
  
He blinked and stared at her for a second before giving her a nod. “Okay.”  
  
“Good. Then that’s settled.” She got on her tiptoes, her hand settling back on his chest, and placed a kiss on his lips. “I’m glad you’re fine.”  
  
He chuckled, shaking his head. “The only current injury was inflicted by you.” He moved his shoulder, rotating his arm, his lips moving in an unvoiced ‘ouch.’ He looked down at her. “Your punching technique really sucks, but you hit the muscle perfectly.”  
  
She peered sternly at him. “Good. Don’t give me reasons to improve my technique.” **  
  
** He placed his hand over hers, still resting on his chest. “I’ll give it my all.”  
  
  
  
**April 10 th, 2013**  
  
John Diggle was one of the calmest men Oliver had ever met. It was a genuine calm that was more than just surface, that stretched out to the very core of John Diggle. At least it normally did. **  
  
** But his normal had vanished and been replaced with a tautness that increased with every passing day that brought Floyd Lawton closer to Starling City. Seeing Diggle come down the stairs this morning, his eyes red from lacking sleep, his face tired with worry, his body twisted into knots, Oliver had taken a page out of his partner’s book, thrown the boxing gloves at him, and put boxing punch mitts on himself. The force with which Digg delivered each punch, the way Oliver had to flex his muscles against each connection proved that the soldier had some frustrations to vent. Sadly, it hadn’t helped Diggle ease up much. After an hour, both men were drenched in sweat, but Diggle still seemed ready to climb up the walls as he forcefully ripped the Velcro fastener of his gloves open.  
  
“Digg,” Oliver said, the punching mitts still on, “you don’t have to go through with A.R.G.U.S.’s plan.”  
  
“It’s a solid plan,” Diggle said. “Lyla’s in charge of the operation and she knows what she’s doing.”  
  
Lyla Michaels was Diggle’s contact in A.R.G.U.S. Felicity was convinced that there was some history of the romantic kind involved. Oliver trusted his wife’s assertion when it came to such things, but he also didn’t particularly care—at least not enough to actually ask. If Felicity wanted to know, she could ask herself. Knowing her, she’d probably do so pretty soon. **  
  
** Until now John Diggle hadn’t been very forthcoming about their shared history, but he had told them that Lyla found out Deadshot had killed Digg’s brother—a fact he had omitted to Lyla before. As far as Oliver understood, that hadn’t been received well, using the agency and his… friend/potential ex for his own vendetta.  
  
Ultimately, Felicity had been forced to hack the A.R.G.U.S. network—while muttering the whole time that it was outrageous that a government agency had worse security than Merlyn Global. At the end of this tirade had been figuring out the mission profile that involved setting a trap for Floyd Lawton at the plaza. **  
  
** “Deadshot thinks he’s meeting with his employer to get details about his next hit, but the employer will be an A.R.G.U.S.-agent,” Diggle repeated facts Oliver had already heard multiple times. “Lyla and her team will swoop in and arrest Lawton.”  
  
Oliver looked at his partner. “Do you want Lawton arrested?” He knew the honest answer to this, but needed to give Diggle the choice of lying. **  
  
** He went for the truth. “No.” It was a simple statement leaving Diggle’s lips with difficulty. He practically breathed it out, the inner turmoil destroying his usual calm visible and audible. **  
  
** “Then we will cross Floyd Lawton off your list tonight.” Oliver gave a nod full of confidence. Because there was nothing that would keep him from helping his partner – his friend – getting the closure he himself craved so badly and that was still out of reach. “It ends tonight.”  
  
______________________________________  
  
  
Things were looking good. The sentence felt like a miracle to Felicity. After weeks, no, _months_ of setbacks and technological disasters of various kinds, everything seemed to be going smoothly. The field test they started two weeks ago at Queen Consolidated had managed to exceed expectations so far. It was all working perfectly and as she looked at the people assembled around the table in the conference room, she knew they knew it, too.  
  
But nobody dared to voice it.  
  
Yongtak Chan was beyond superstitious. Firestorm’s lead programmer had once had a freak-out after his car broke down in the morning and he spilled his latte over his laptop at noon—because everybody knew that bad things came in threes. The fact that he had watched the racist disaster that was the second Sex and the City movie that very evening had done nothing to ease his superstitions.  
  
So, if anybody said anything along the lines of ‘things are looking perfect,’ Yongtak would start a long rant about jinxing it. That would take a while and Felicity needed to get out of here. It was past six already and the A.R.G.U.S. trap was scheduled to snap shut at eight. She wanted to get to the Foundry and hack the cameras of the plaza—while making sure that John stayed in that damp cellar with her. He needed to be away from the scene or everything else would end up in disaster, Felicity was sure of it. **  
  
** “Okay, sounds like we’re on track.” Felicity hesitated for a second, but apparently her phrasing was adequate to not count as a jinx to Yongtak. She continued, “I want to publish the software as soon as possible, but I need it to run flawlessly. I’d rather add another month of working out kinks than face another publicity disaster.” **  
  
** “About that.” All eyes travelled to Ben Walters, the newly appointed CFO. He looked so much like the clichéd accountant that during the first minute of his job interview Felicity had wondered if he was messing with her. There was the white dress shirt, the sweater vest, the sensible shoes letting his feet breathe and move soundlessly, the side-parted hair, and the paleness that spoke of days spent tucked away from any sunlight looking at numbers (Felicity could hardly be judgmental about the latter as she did the same, and often spent her nights tucked away in a damp basement). The fact that Ben was short for Benedict was kind of the cherry on top of this huge cliché.  
  
But Felicity never hired (or not hired) people because of how they looked and acted—she had way too much self-awareness for that.  
  
Even though Ben Walters didn’t have any experience in leadership in corporate business, Felicity had a feeling about him. Ben had worked in one of the Starling City’s top accounting firms and he knew numbers. He knew taxes, he knew business necessities, and when he had answered Tak’s random question if he knew the square of 465.87 with a shrug and “217034.857,” Felicity hadn’t needed to hear any more. When Yongtak asked how Ben felt about mandatory annual Halloween parties, Felicity knew that her number one had come to the same conclusion. **  
  
** The CFO shifted a little under the eyes settling on him and did that awkward hand gesture he always did when he felt uneasy. It involved wiggling his fingers before tightening and spreading them. When he was done with that he continued, “I’d like to suggest hiring somebody to take over PR and marketing. I believe that it will be a very beneficiary investment for us. Our finances allow adding one more person in a leading position. In my opinion, it would be wise to combine the release of the software with a solid marketing campaign.”  
  
A somewhat triumphant smile showed on Felicity’s face. Here was more proof that her feeling about this man had been right. “I share your opinion.” She looked at Jerry, already bringing his pen to his notebook. “Place an ad. Many somebody’ll apply now that our reputation’s improved a little.”  
  
Tak sighed. “I never thought I’d dislike having a bad rep.”  
  
Ignoring the bad joke, Felicity glanced around the table. “Does anybody have anything else that needs to be discussed?” Collectively head-shaking was the answer to this. “Great, then let’s call it a night. See you tomorrow.” **  
  
** Quickly gathering her phone and her tablet, Felicity walked up the stairs to the third floor. She would just quickly grab her purse and head to the Foundry.  
  
A strange sense of nervousness claimed her. This was the first time a mission wasn’t about Oliver and his list or the Queens and their family drama. It wasn’t about the Undertaking or saving a random somebody. It was about John and his peace of mind, about the fact that he had distanced himself from Carly and his nephew. It brought a sense of importance hard to define or analyze and added a new kind of pressure. If things went as planned today and Oliver snipered the sniper (which was kind of ironic if you thought about it), one person in their deranged little trio could find closure.  
  
Nothing could be more important than that.  
  
The third floor was nearly empty. She was about to tell Katie, who was still busy trying to add some style to their newest software, to call it a night, too, when she saw Brad Foster head toward her. The expression on her bodyguard’s face was serious. He motioned toward her office, “You have a visitor.” His eyes told her of a certain urgency and Felicity quickened her steps. **  
  
** Entering her office, Felicity realized that she had been wrong before—there could be something more important than John Diggle’s vendetta.  
  
“Thea.” Surprised, Felicity looked at the young girl sitting on the purple chair. The fact that her sister-in-law was in her office, a place she had never been before, caused all alarms to go off inside Felicity. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” The alarms turned even louder when Thea lifted her head to meet her eyes.  
  
Thea looked pale, paler than usual, and somewhat haunted. The younger Queen jumped up from her seat as if Felicity entering the room was the go-signal she needed. “Felicity, hi, sorry. You said I could come by to talk. About whatever. I’d like to talk. About whatever.”  
  
The hectically forced-out words made Felicity blink. It was unusual to be the one being rambled _at_. Her first instinct was to ask Thea if she had taken anything, but those words got stuck in her throat. The way Thea brought her hand up to shakily to move it through her long, brunette hair showed Felicity that the opposite was the case.  
  
Thea was completely sober—and that was the problem.  
  
“Sure,” Felicity carefully closed her office door. “We can talk about whatever.”  
  
“I’m sorry. I promised Roy I wouldn’t….” She left the sentence hanging, but it was easy to fill in the gaps.  
  
Felicity spared the girl the need to continue. Instead, she nodded and dared a small, encouraging smile. “I think it’s great that you want to keep your promise.”  
  
“Roy’s working tonight. At Verdant. Humpday Party. Oliver asked Tommy and Tommy gave him a job.”  
  
“Yes, Oliver told me.”  
  
Restless, Thea picked at a strand of her hair, twirling it around her finger. “God, you two’ve got that communication thing down, haven’t you?”  
  
“We’re trying.” Felicity closed the small gap separating them. “Hey, what can I do? Tell me what you need.”  
  
Thea thought about that for a second. “I need some company. I need you to keep an eye on me. Please.”  
  
Positivity raced through Felicity. This was a miracle, this was a break-through, this was amazing, this was nothing that she could say ‘no’ to.  
  
Of course, it had to happen on the day Felicity felt like she desperately needed to be at the Foundry.  
  
But the feeling that she needed to be there for Thea was stronger. After months of offering it over and over again and being rejected, the young woman had finally asked for her help. She was opening up and Felicity knew without a shadow of a doubt that rejecting her now would be the final blow to this damaged teenager. Oliver should go and be there for John, she’d stay and be here for Thea.  
  
Hoping it radiated the encouragement she was going for, Felicity brought a small smile to her face. “Of course. Do you want to go back to our place?”  
  
“I’d like to get French fries. At that burger joint Ollie always goes to. I’d like to just go and eat the world’s best fries. Please.”  
  
“Okay,” Felicity kept the smile on her face. “Then let’s do it.” **  
  
** ________________________________________________  
  
  
Talking about whatever sounded like a doable task. Actually, it should come naturally to Felicity, who had once spent an hour discussing time-travel with her best friend. (At the time, Tina would have given anything to go back five hours and stop herself from getting bangs.) But as Felicity sat in a booth in Big Belly Burger, she couldn’t think of a way to start a casual conversation.  
  
Watching Thea stuff her face with fries as if she was sick and could only be cured by salt and grease made Felicity realize that there wasn’t any use pretending anything about this was remotely casual. She cupped the coffee mug with both hands. “I think it’s great that you want to keep your promise to Roy.”  
  
Thea’s hand stilled on its way to her mouth, a couple of fries between her fingers. “He said his mom was a drunk and… he doesn’t need all that again.”  
  
Slowly, Felicity nodded, letting her fingers trail around the rim of the mug. “So, you’re doing this for him?”  
  
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Thea let the fries drop back into the red basket in front of her. “I like Roy and he says he worries. And I don’t want him to. And…. Mostly I want to prove to myself that I can do it.” **  
  
** “That’s a good reason,” Felicity smiled. “A very good reason.”  
  
She kept from saying more as Carly stepped next to the table with a coffee pot in hand. “Everything okay?” Carly asked with the hint of a smile on her face. “Can I get you anything else?”  
  
“I’m good, thanks. Enough coffee for me—especially of this coffee. It’s so strong I’m sure it could wake up the dead,” Felicity answered.  
  
Carly chuckled politely. “I know, but that’s how most customers prefer it. I could get you a decaf if you want.”  
  
“Thanks, but I’m really good.” Felicity glanced at Thea, who was back to stuffing her face with fries. She motioned to the nearly empty basket. “You want more after that?”  
  
For a second Thea hesitated and Felicity bet her mother’s words were ringing in her ears, the same words that kept Felicity from ordering any food, because she’d already had a big work-lunch. But unlike Felicity, Thea felt rebellious. “You know what? Yes. I want more fries. Thank you.”  
  
Carly smirked. “Coming right up.” She turned to head back to the counter but froze and faced Felicity again. “Felicity, I don’t mean to make this uncomfortable, but… I’m worried about Johnny. He’s been very distant and I haven’t seen much of him lately. I…. Is Johnny okay?”  
  
The question wasn’t exactly surprising. Felicity had sensed Carly’s unease when entering the restaurant thirty minutes ago. She had expected that Carly wouldn’t miss the opportunity to gain some insight. But that didn’t make this any less uncomfortable. The truth of that statement, the fact that Felicity had seen John more often than his girlfriend had, and that she knew things about him that the other woman probably couldn’t even imagine, left Felicity highly uneasy. Carly wasn’t stupid, she was a perceptive woman and she must sense that John was keeping something from her.  
  
Felicity knew that sensation. She knew what it was like when your common sense was tingling, telling you somebody was hiding something and that you weren’t shown the whole picture, only carefully selected parts.  
  
Before Felicity had found out Oliver’s secret, she had felt that way.  
  
It had been horrible. Felicity knew without the shadow of a doubt that, if he hadn’t filled her in (or, rather, if she hadn’t found out), she wouldn’t be with him right now. Lingering suspicions destroyed trust. Felicity wouldn’t have been able to ignore that, the vague feeling of betrayal. She knew and could imagine what Carly must feel like if she was asking Felicity, a woman she had only met a handful of times.  
  
But Felicity still didn’t know how to answer. She looked up at the other woman standing next to the table, coffee pot in hand, and decided to simply feign ignorance. “Lately, he’s mostly been with Oliver.” She motioned across the room where Brad Foster sat by the counter. “I have my own bodyguard and don’t see much of John.”  
  
“And Oliver hasn’t mentioned anything? That Johnny’s acting weird?”  
  
A mocking huff came from Thea that sounded like ‘ _please, as if Oliver noticed anything like that. He’s acting weird himself_ ’. (It was a lot of information to cram into one small sound, but Thea pulled that off flawlessly.)  
  
Ignoring that, Felicity answered, “He didn’t. It’s probably nothing.”  
  
“I don’t know….” Carly sighed. “Forget I said anything.”  
  
Seeing the utter defeat on Carly’s face, guilt crept over Felicity. “Carly,” she kept her from leaving, “if you’re worried about him, why don’t you talk to him?”  
  
“Don’t you think I’ve tried? He’s never been like this. So closed off. He’s not acting like himself.”  
  
“Maybe he’s working through some stuff,” Felicity offered. “I’m sure it’ll be over soon.” If things went as planned, it would be over tonight. Involuntarily, she glanced at her cellphone resting on the table. Oliver would send a text as soon as it was done. God, Felicity so hoped that things worked out as planned. **  
  
** ___________________________________________  
  
  
Oliver’s heart was in it—but his head wasn’t.  
  
That had never happened to him before. Never. He could pull himself together, focus on the task at hand, put the mission first. Never had he failed to do what he needed to do, concentrated and calculated. Even in the last months with everything that had happened, he had never failed to push his emotions aside and get his head in the game.  
  
Standing in position, the one John Diggle had deemed perfect using what Felicity summed up as “a lot of military jargon”, Oliver glanced down at the plaza and the spot where they believed Deadshot would appear in approximately twenty minutes. The Hood had arrived early, because in his heart Oliver felt that he needed to get this right. Oliver knew that he needed to give his partner the revenge he craved. There was nothing Oliver wanted more right now than end this for Diggle. He wanted to take this burden off his friend. He wanted to keep his promise. **  
  
** But his thoughts continued to wander to Felicity and Thea. One hour ago Felicity had called him and told him she’d take Thea to Big Belly Burger. The text Felicity had sent after hanging up (Thea asked for help to stay sober. Gotta do this. Please explain to John.) added further explanation stirring undisclosed emotions within Oliver: he was horrified that his sister needed help to stay sober. At the same time he was relieved that his sister obviously realized she needed help. It was a ray of light in the darkness that was Thea’s undeniable addiction. And Oliver knew that if there was one person out there to turn this ray of light into a beam of brightness, it was Felicity. His sister was in the best hands. **  
  
** He knew. But that didn’t keep him from wishing he could have a hand in helping his sister, too. **  
  
** Instead, he had to keep hidden behind a pillar, observing the plaza below.  
  
Not a cloud was blocking the moon hanging nearly full and huge in the sky, adding cold white light to the warm yellow illumination the plaza provided. These were perfect conditions. He couldn’t mess this up. This was what he was good at—he was good at taking lives. The fact that tonight, for the first time ever, he wished he weren’t didn’t change that.  
  
Breathing deliberately, Oliver tried to regain his calm, tried to clear his head, get rid of thoughts of Thea and what state she might be in. This was important. The air filled his lungs, causing his chest to rise, before he blew it out through his nose, visualizing himself forcing all distractions out and away.  
  
“A.R.G.U.S.’s agents are in position.” The strain Oliver heard in Diggle’s voice alone was enough to make him regain his focus.  
  
He let his eyes sweep over the plaza and saw Diggle was right—that was a problem. The man cleaning the floor, the guy holding a newspaper without reading it, the man sitting on a bench, the fake security guard—it was like they held signs up saying ‘we’re agents and this is a trap.’ This was very sloppy work. “They’re too obvious, Digg. I could take out four agents right now.”  
  
Letting his eyes travel over the plaza for a sign of Deadshot, Oliver saw his partner cross the plaza to sit down at a table opposite a brunette. Oliver had noticed her, but her cover had been solid. Good to know that Diggle knew how to choose his contacts… friends… lovers. Whatever she was to John Diggle, she knew what she was doing. The way her body tensed told Oliver that she wasn’t happy with Diggle’s sudden appearance, but only twenty seconds later the four agents Oliver had made with one glance were pulling back. Which meant there were still others in cover. Good.  
  
Everything was prepared. Now all that was missing was a target for The Hood to aim at. He went back to observing the plaza and waited for Floyd Lawton to show up. **  
  
** _______________________________________________  
  
  
Thea had emptied another plate of fries and seemed a bit calmer. Even though her left leg constantly wiggling underneath the table told Felicity that she was far from really calm.  
  
“So,” Felicity asked, “you and Roy are serious?”  
  
“Yeah, I guess.”  
  
“You guess?”  
  
“It’s complicated.”  
  
Slightly amused, Felicity reached for her freshly ordered soda. “Seriously? Why?”  
  
“Because of The Hood.”  
  
Nearly choking on the sip she had taken, Felicity coughed while her eyes watered.  
  
Thea frowned. “You okay?”  
  
“Yes, sorry. I just didn’t expect that. Why would The Hood complicate you and Roy?”  
  
“Because ever since The Hood saved him in that subway wagon, Roy kind of worships him.”

“Worships the vigilante?”

“Yeah, wants to meet him. I told Roy he doesn’t need him to be somebody, but he’s stubborn.” **  
  
** “I know the type,” Felicity sighed. This indeed sounded like a complication. It also sounded like something that she shouldn’t approve of. Not to mention that it sounded like something that might make Oliver freak out. With their whole not-keeping-anything-from-each-other-vow, she could hardly keep this under wraps. The thought that she had managed to tell him about the wreck of the _Queen’s Gambit_ and that Malcolm Merlyn was the devil reincarnated didn’t help her at all. Instead, it made her wonder why she constantly had to give him news that held freaking-out potential?  
  
Thea’s voice was soft when she said, “But I like Roy. Really, he’s a good guy. He stopped robbing liquor stores for me.”  
  
“Well, if that isn’t love I don’t know what is.” Seeing the look that crossed her sister-in-law’s face, Felicity hurried to add, “Sorry, I always forget that sarcasm mostly isn’t helpful. It’s just—”  
  
The sentence died on her tongue as the front door was kicked open so forcefully that the bells above it were ripped off and propelled through the room. The next thing Felicity saw was a gun. Her eyes zoomed in on it, blocking all other visual stimuli out. For a few seconds the barrel of the gun became her whole universe. Then her surroundings crashed in on her again. With it came the realization that a man wearing a blue hoodie was stalking through the restaurant, aiming his gun at Carly, telling her to “hand over the fuckin’ money.” He was holding his gun sideways—which Felicity had learned might look gangsta, but didn’t do your aim any favors. The shaking of his hands probably reduced his aiming abilities even more. His eyes jumped through the room, his whole demeanor spoke of nervousness. It also vibrated in his voice when he added a yelled “NOW!”, jerking the weapon at Carly.  
  
She hurried toward the cash register as the robber took another step toward the counter—and with that he was within reach of Brad Foster. Felicity’s bodyguard moved quickly and efficiently. Felicity knew that he had a black belt in Aikido, but now she saw that that meant hands moving precisely and quickly. In barely five seconds the robber lay on the floor of the diner, gasping for air.  
  
The veteran with the missing thumb towered over the man, keeping his eyes on him, and said, “Somebody call 9—”  
  
“Watch out!” Felicity’s cry of warning came a second too late. The second man, who’d been sitting two seats further down by the counter, was with Brad before he could even turn around. Felicity’s shout was still hanging in the air when the stranger rammed a knife into Brad’s side.  
  
“NO!” The cry of utter dread fled from Felicity’s lips. She was on her feet and rushing to her bodyguard – the third bodyguard who had been hurt while protecting her – when suddenly she was faced with a gun.  
  
The man who had stabbed Brad was aiming at her. “Sit down!”  
  
Slowly, Felicity retreated and slid back into the booth. The stabber was older than the guy in the blue hoodie, who was still on the floor, gasping for air. The standing man wore torn jeans, a stained football jersey, and a threatening expression. He looked serious and calm where his partner had appeared jumpy and inexperienced.  
  
Felicity glanced at Thea, frozen to her seat, but quickly placed her attention back on the two robbers.  
  
The hoodied man was breathing more evenly. Brad Foster lay between them on the floor, bleeding heavily. Though his breathing was shallow, he was conscious, but after the first yell of pain he had fallen quiet, focusing all his energy on breathing. It was a wild guess, but Felicity thought the knife might’ve hit a lung. How much time did that leave Brad? The man planning to marry his high school sweetheart in two months, the man who had survived a bombing in Jalalabad only to get taken out protecting her in a burger restaurant in Starling City?  
  
“Just take the money,” Carly said. Her voice was higher than usual, vibrating with the terror claiming her. She pressed a few buttons and the drawer of the cashier rolled out, “Here! Take it!”  
  
Knife-guy, whose carrot red hair was accompanied with pale and freckled skin, aimed his gun at her. “Dee,” he addressed hoodie-guy, who got up from the floor, “give her the bag and keep your eyes on her.”  
  
Dee threw a plastic bag at Carly, who failed to catch it in her panic, and raised his firearm again, aiming it at the woman’s chest.  
  
“Pick up the bag and fill it!” knife-guy told her and turned around to face the assembled customers. Next to Felicity and Thea, there was a group of five teenagers, three boys and two girls, occupying the booth farthest away from the Queen women. “You better don’t try anything stupid if you want to get out of here alive.” He waved the gun around. “Since one of you caused us problems and the stakes just got upped, I say we better make this worth it.” A dirty grin showed on his face. “And I think you two Queens are worth a lot.” He turned to their booth, motioning to the cellphone resting on the table with the gun. “Call your billionaire of a husband. I want to know how much he’s willing to pay for you.”  
  
“Max,” Dee breathed the name out in utter shock. “That was never part of the plan.”  
  
“I’m improvising,” Max said and sounded way too pleased with himself.  
  
“You’re an idiot.”  
  
Felicity couldn’t believe Thea was actually talking right now. Even though she did have a point, it was questionable if she had to make that in this exact moment.  
  
“Oh?” Max taunted dangerously. “Am I? I’m also the one with the gun. So, shut up!”  
  
“If you want to do this,” Thea shrugged, “fine with me. It’s your funeral.” She turned to Felicity. “Call Ollie.” There was something in Thea’s voice that Felicity couldn’t quite place.  
  
The gurgling sounds coming from Brad told Felicity she didn’t have a choice: she had to call Oliver, praying that she wasn’t destroying one of their most important missions and that he had already sniped the sniper.  
  
She reached for her phone and dialed a number she had never called before.  
  
______________________________________________  
  
  
Lawton was there, Oliver knew. He had seen him for the blink of an eye before he had disappeared again. It had happened too quickly for Oliver to react: Deadshot had been standing next to another man on one of the upper levels of the plaza, giving him a hat, before he had sunk into the crowd again. Damn it, this guy was seriously good.  
  
Scanning the people underneath him, Oliver suddenly saw that exact hat again. Quickly, he opened the com, “Digg, the guy heading your way’s a decoy.”  
  
Oliver had been right before, Deadshot was really, really good. Sending in somebody that resembled him to lure potential threats out, to make sure that this wasn’t a trap—that was smart. It also meant Lawton had a good view on the plaza, too. Raising his bow, Oliver scanned the upper level when he felt a vibration against his chest. He lost his focus and his concentration instantly. Because this was his “work phone” as Felicity called it. Only two people had this number. One of them was sitting at a table opposite a brunette A.R.G.U.S. agent, looking tense and close to self-combustion. The other was supposed to be eating French fries with his sister. This was the emergency number, this was a phone he’d carried with him every second of the day for four months and it hadn’t rang once. Quickly, he pulled the zipper of his jacket down, got the tiny phone stored in the inside pocket out, and answered, “Felicity, what happened?”  
  
_“I’m in a little bit of a situation at Big Belly Burger.”_ She was talking quickly and Oliver could hear the tension in her voice, the suppressed fear as she continued, _“There are two guys with guns here who originally planned a little robbery, but after they stabbed Brad they decided to turn this into a hostage situation and ask you for money. Oh, one of them wants to talk to you.”_  
  
Fury collected inside him as Diggle’s voice hit Oliver’s other ear. _“What’s going on?”_  
  
The com line was still open, Oliver realized, already turning his back to the plaza, running. “Tell them to abort the mission. I have to go.”  
  
“ _GO_?” Pure shock was audible in Diggle’s voice. _“Go where?”_  
  
“Hostage situation at Big Belly,” Oliver forced out, adding, “Don’t engage Lawton!”  
  
Oliver cut the communication off and connected his cellphone with the system. He had barely managed to do so when a different, unfamiliar male voice came out of his ear plug. _“Mr. Queen, your wife already filled you in.”_  
  
“Yes,” Oliver grumbled heading to his bike. She had, she had kept it together and had informed him perfectly. She had told him where to go, how many opponents were waiting for him with what weaponry, and that Brad was hurt. She hadn’t managed to include the number of hostages, but her tale gave him the impression that the two guys asking for ransom were hardly professional. That was bad, actually. It was a variable that could end up tipping the situation either way. With a forceful flick of his wrist, he started his bike. “You want money? How much?”

 _“Oh, I have your wife, your sister, the beauty running this joint – she’s a friend of your wife, I think – and five innocent bystanders. How much do you think that’s worth?”_  
  
There it was, the whole number of people threatened: eight, including two people he loved and his partner’s girlfriend. Along with it came the information that this guy was really cocky and really stupid. Oliver’s face tightened with the worry. He twisted the gas handle as far as it would go, his bike jumping forward with screeching tires. The guy on the other end of the conversation probably heard it, but Oliver didn’t care.  
  
“Tell me how much you want and I’ll pay.” Oliver didn’t even try to sound like a terrified husband and brother. He was too furious to make an act even remotely believable.  
  
_“Already on your way to the bank, I hear.”_  
  
There was a smirk in the asshole’s voice. Oh, Oliver would so enjoy wiping it off. He tightened his grip on the handle and couldn’t help but think that at least Felicity knew he was on his way. “Yes,” he pressed out, forcing himself not to sound as murderous as he felt. He needed to keep this guy engaged in conversation, distracted. “How much to you want and where do you want me to transfer it?”  
  
_“We want one billion per hostage, two for the wife.”_  
  
“You want nine billion dollars?” Oliver asked and heard somebody mutter something in the background and he was nearly one hundred percent sure that it was Felicity, who would never understand that sarcasm generally wasn’t helpful.  
  
_“Shut UP!”_ The guy Oliver would end tonight snapped at somebody—probably Felicity. His next words were clearly directed at Oliver. _“You’re right, let’s make that an even sum.”_ Oliver was speeding through a red light when he heard, _“Let’s make it ten billion. I’ll text you the account number. You have one hour.”_ With that the line went dead. Biting back a curse, Oliver barely managed to avoid colliding with a truck and steered around the corner. This guy would get what he deserved.  
  
_____________________________________________  
  
  
Max, the guy seriously overestimating his own intelligence, pressed the send-button and threw the phone on the table between Felicity and Thea. He looked so pleased with himself, a smug smile on his face, and Felicity knew that, inwardly, he was already counting his billions.  
  
Thea was right. He was an idiot.  
  
A strange relief had taken over Felicity during the minutes Max had spent on the phone. The knowledge that Oliver was on his way calmed her. She didn’t even have to wish for him to hurry. There wasn’t the slightest doubt within her that Oliver was hurrying—which probably meant he was speeding recklessly on his bike.  
  
Maybe she should hope that he’d get here in one piece.  
  
She looked at Brad in time to see his eyes flutter shut. He lost conscious, a gurgling coming from within his chest. Felicity feared for his life more than she did for her own. Moving her gaze away from the man lying on the floor by the counter, she met Carly’s. The other woman breathed heavily as she stood next to the open cash register, visibly shaken, but pulling herself together. **  
  
** “You really are an idiot.”  
  
That was Thea. Felicity’s eyes snapped to the girl, who had a strangely wild expression in her eyes. She seemed jumpier than before, unable to sit still, her hands shaking slightly. The realization that she had seriously underestimated Thea’s condition (and she had already feared for much, much worse than Oliver ever had) hit Felicity hard and unprepared. Thea was unstable, in need of whatever she was on, and she was reckless enough in this state to taunt a guy who was unpredictable and in possession of a firearm. “Thea,” Felicity warned.  
  
Thea either didn’t hear the warning or deliberately ignored it. “Come _on_ ,” she said instead. “Ten billion dollars? If you had asked for ten million—okay. But ten billion?” She glared at Max, her eyes shooting daggers at him, “For a guy that doesn’t know what he’s doing! You’re in way over your head.” She informed him casually.  
  
Felicity half-admired her sister-in-law’s gut while the other half worried that Max would spill Thea’s gut across the seat.  
  
But the robber kept from shooting Thea. Instead, he slapped her, splitting her lip. Felicity only managed to flex her muscles in an attempt to get up before she was faced with the gun again.  
  
“Max, man,” Dee urged, sounding terrified. He stood by the teenagers, keeping them in check. “She has a point. That’s is too much. Let’s just go and forget about this.”  
  
“NO!” Max yelled. “Everybody just SHUT UP!” He stared at Dee. “I got this.”  
  
“You got _nothing_!” Thea practically spat the words at him. Blood was running down her chin, dripping onto the fashionable white shirt she was wearing, leaving bright stains that grew steadily. **  
  
** Max swung the gun back at her. “I SAID SHUT UP!”  
  
“Okay.” Shaking the shock off, Felicity found her voice back. “Everybody calm down.” For lack of anything better, she reached for the dispenser and held some napkins out to Thea, “Here, press that on the wound. We don’t taunt guys with guns.” She focused on Max. “My husband’s on his way to get the money. I know he is, just don’t do anything stupid.” She added what she hoped was a calming gesture. “We’ll just sit here and shut up until you have the money in your account, okay?”  
  
“No, not okay,” Max shot back. “I think I deserve a little extra for putting up with you both.” He pointed at Felicity’s left hand. “Give me your ring.”  
  
“My ring?”  
  
Stunned Felicity stared at the guy for a long second before letting her gaze drop to the only ring she wore: the platinum band with the embedded emerald, the ring Oliver had slipped on her finger with a promise. It was a token of their love. There might by a tracer in there that gave Oliver some peace of mind, but that wasn’t what she saw when looking at her left hand. She saw their own version of a wedding band that fit their own version of a marriage and there was no way in hell that she’d simply give that jackass her ring.  
  
Her eyes snapped back up. “I have my credit card on me. Take that instead.”  
  
“No,” Max said, sounding strangely pleased. “I want the ring. It looks flashy and expensive.”  
  
“Flashy?!” Felicity gasped in awe. “Are you crazy? There nothing flashy about it.”  
  
“But it’s expensive and I want it.”  
  
“It has sentimental value,” Felicity argued and kind of expected the man to grab her hand and tear the ring off her finger. **  
  
** Max didn’t. Instead, he turned, swinging his outstretched arm with the gun in hand 180 degrees. His eyes were on Felicity, but the gun aimed at Carly. His voice mocking, he said, “It’s fine. Keep your ring. I’ll simply shoot her.”  
  
“What was it about not taunting guys with guns?” Thea piped up. **  
  
** “Okay, okay, _okay_.” Felicity quickly pulled the ring off. “Here.” Letting the ring drop into Max’ outstretched hand, Felicity couldn’t help but really, really despise him. She longed to wipe that smug smile off his face, and her stomach turned when she saw his fist close around the stupid ring that wasn’t worth letting anybody get hurt over while letting go of it still tore her heart apart. **  
  
** “You enjoy this!” Thea spat, a bundle of blood-soaked napkins in hand. “You only want the ring because it means something to her. You’re _sick_! You’ll pay for this.”  
  
“Really?!” Max laughed at his own private joke. Nobody else found anything funny. The other people stayed deadly quiet, staring or glaring at him. His eyes were set on Thea. “No, babe, you’ll pay. Or should we say: your family will pay. Because, honestly, what do you have to offer apart from a pretty face and a nice ass?”  
  
“HEY!” Felicity shouted, hating this guy more with each word he said. “That’s _enough_. You don’t get to talk to her like that.”  
  
“I don’t?” he mocked. **  
  
** “You don’t!” Felicity clarified. “And all this makes me wonder what is it _you_ have to offer. Can’t be a lot of comm—”  
  
“Shut up, bitch!” Max face was getting red, the gun swayed right back to her and the way it was vibrating right in front of her nose told Felicity that she better followed that order. “You _bitch_ , you don’t—”  
  
The lights went out. The full moon outside sent its cold light through the huge windows. Together with the streetlamp on the sidewalk and the passing cars it provided more than enough light to make everybody out, but the sudden change in lighting stunned the gun-wielding robber into momentary silence. The teenagers gasped in shock, but Felicity’s body flooded with relief.  
  


Oliver. He was here.  
  
“What that FUCK!” Max shouted, his grasp on the situation slipping more and more with each passing second. Hectically he turned around, glanced left, right, left again. “What happened to the lights?” he asked in a demanding voice, as if that made the answer magically come to him.  
  
“I don’t know,” Dee wined in response. “We should get out of here.”  
  
“Too late!” The electronically changed voice of The Hood froze everybody into place just as the swing door leading to the kitchen was kicked open. The sound of the bowstring being released could be heard. A soft ‘plock’ followed almost instantly as the arrow hit Dee’s gun, knocking it to the floor. A second arrow followed instantly, piercing the boy’s thigh, slicing through the leg, causing him to fall to the floor with a whimper.  
  
Carly was already ducking behind the counter. The Hood jumped over it and went straight for Max, connecting the sole of his foot with the robber’s stomach, causing him to double over and stumble back, the gun falling to the floor. Aggression was leaking from The Hood, Felicity could feel it. She could sense the state of mind the man underneath the hood was in, the man she knew and loved, and she knew what he had come here to do.  
  
Barely keeping from crashing to the ground, Max caught himself. Theatrically he spat a mouthful of blood to the floor. Turning his head slowly, he looked at The Hood. “I thought you only attacked the rich.” **  
  
** “I’m not Robin Hood.”  
  
It was the wrong moment to roll her eyes, Felicity knew. Still, she only barely managed to keep from doing it. That was such a typical Oliver-thing to say.  
  
“You attacked innocent people.” The Hood continued. “I won’t allow that in my city.”  
  
“Your city?” Max sounded disbelieving. “Who made you mayor?”  
  
Despite her better judgment, Felicity couldn’t help but admire Max’s gut. The Hood obviously didn’t agree. He jumped at the man. His fists rained down on the robber, who wasn’t a worthy opponent and simply took the hits. Seeing The Hood reach toward his quiver and for an arrow, Felicity knew that was next.  
  
“Don’t!” The word flew from her lips before she could stop it. The Hood froze mid-movement, his fist closed around an arrow. Its very tip grazed the skin of Max’s neck. A sudden silence followed that seemed deafening to Felicity. “He’s unarmed.” Her voice sounded slightly shaky in her own ears. “He isn’t a threat anymore.”  
  
Two more seconds of utter quiet followed. It was the barest pause, but it was filled with the air of a decision being made, with a deliberate change of direction. Quick movement ended this moment and an arrow was thrust into skin, tearing a cry filled with pain from Max’s lips. The robber crashed to the ground, the arrow The Hood rammed into a muscle of his leg. Another well-calculated punch and Max lost consciousness.  
  
Once again, the assembled people reacted with nothing. A forceful gurgling cut into the silence and Felicity tore her eyes away from her husband’s alter-ego and hurried to get out of the booth. Sinking down to the floor, she checked Brad Foster’s pulse. It was faint, but it was there. **  
  
** “I’m calling 911,” Carly declared. **  
  
** Felicity hoped that Oliver had already done that on his way over. Brad needed help ASAP. Staring down at her bleeding bodyguard, her eyes were drawn to the knife sticking out of his side.  
  
“Leave it,” The Hood said from behind her, his electronically changed voice deep and distorted. “Press on the wound.”  
  
She looked up and saw that he was moving toward her. Their eyes met. She was about to say something when Thea spoke up first. “I knew you’d come.” There was a certain softness in her voice. “Thank you.”  
  
The Hood froze for a second. He stood in the middle of Big Belly Burger, his head lowered so that his hood covered more than half of his face.  
  
“Yeah,” one of the teenage boys said. “That was so badass, dude. Thanks!”  
  
Felicity didn’t know if anybody had ever thanked The Hood, but she could sense Oliver’s unease. After another moment of hesitation he gave a jerk of his head that could count as a nod before he jumped over the counter, passed Carly, and headed toward the kitchen, back to where he had come from. He disappeared just in time: the swing door was still moving, its hinges squeaking, when blue and red lights flash from the outside. The ambulance arrived, along with SCPD.  
  
____________________________________________  
  
  
News had spread. The way the officer lifted the yellow tape as Oliver walked toward the police line proved that. The uniformed man recognized him and knew that the billionaire had reasons to pass: on the other side of the barrier keeping the onlookers in bay were his wife and his sister—and, apparently, his mother.  
  
Moira Queen stood in the midst of the emergency lights flashing red and blue, holding on to Thea, who appeared to be unsteady on her legs. Oliver walked forcefully toward them. “Mom,” he called and rushed to her.  
  
His mother’s eyes met his and the expression that greeted him there stunned him: she looked worried, more worried than he had ever seen her. “Oliver,” she said, tiredly. “It appears that our family can’t catch a break.”  
  
Carefully, Oliver let his eyes slide over his sister whose eyes appeared to be glassy and unfocussed. “Thea, are you okay?”  
  
“Peachy,” she slurred the word. Her tongue was heavy as she continued, “I was a little worried before because, you know, the whole life-and-death thing. But now I’m awesome.” She frowned up at him with huge pupils, “Do you know that your nose is huge? Like gigantic.”  
  
“She was very shaken after the whole horrible ordeal,” Moira explained, “The paramedics gave her something to help her calm down.”  
  
Oliver frowned. That must be one hell of a pill, if it ended like that.  
  
An angry glare on her face, his mother shook her head. “Detective Lance told us to wait so he could get Thea’s statement, but this is plain ridiculous. I’m taking Thea home. She needs sleep. Tell the detective if he wants your sister’s statement, he can come by the mansion tomorrow.”  
  
“I will.” Letting his eyes scan the scenery, over policemen and officers, over cop cars and ambulances, he asked, “Where’s Felicity?”  
  
The moment that question left his lips was the moment he saw the answer: Felicity climbed out of a police van, followed by Detective Lance.  
  
“She was giving her statement.” Moira added unnecessarily.  
  
“Take Thea home,” Oliver urged, “I’ll take care of Lance and call tomorrow.”  
  
After one last glance shared with his mother and a quick goodbye, he walked across the street toward Felicity. She headed toward Big Belly Burger, but only managed two steps before Detective Lance blocked her way, addressing her. She didn’t like whatever Lance was telling her, Oliver could see it in the straightening of her back, in her defiantly raised chin, and as he came close enough he could also hear it in the way she said, “I won’t touch anything…. Okay, I won’t touch anything _else_.”  
  
“Felicity.” Hearing him say her name caught her attention. She looked at him. “Oliver, Detective Lance won’t let me go back in.” She motioned to the diner.  
  
“It’s a crime scene.” Lance was annoyed—he always was, but this time the annoyance was stronger, Oliver realized. “I cannot let you contaminate it.” **  
  
** Stepping next to her, Oliver ignored everything either of them had said and instead pulled Felicity into a hug. “Are you okay?” Keeping up appearances wasn’t the only reason for asking. Oliver knew she was unharmed – he had made sure of that – but what he had seen of the situation inside the diner had been intense. It was another horrible experience she had to live through, another fuel for nightmares that caused her to scream in terror in the middle of the night, ripping him from his sleep with a sound that was nutrition for his own bad dreams. **  
  
** She hugged him back for a second, but her grip loosened too quickly for his liking. Keeping his hands on her shoulders, he looked at her. Meeting her beautiful blue eyes confirmed his worst fears. She looked honestly shaken, her voice sounded small when she said, “I gave him my ring.”  
  
Oliver had expected Felicity to say a lot of things—this wasn’t one of them. Her statement was so unexpected that he did a visible double take. “What?”  
  
“My ring,” she repeated, lifting up her left hand. “I tried to offer him money instead, but he threatened to shoot Carly and I had to give it to him. I’m sorry.” His eyes had fallen to her hand, to her bare ring finger. “The ring’s in there,” she continued, speaking with more emphasis, sounding honestly upset. “I only need a second to go in and get it.” She turned so that Oliver’s hands fell from her shoulders. She gestured toward Lance. “But he won’t let me.”  
  
Her reaction, her insistence to get the ring, and the importance it obviously had for her, made his heart flutter. A smile he couldn’t help showed on his face. Gently, he cradled her ring-less hand in his. “Felicity, it’s okay. It’s just a ring.”  
  
“It _isn’t_ ,” she said sternly. “And you know that it isn’t.”  
  
The smile was still on his lips. “Okay, you’re right. But we’ll get it back.” After all, there was a tracer in the ring. It was one piece of jewelry that was basically impossible to lose. But Lance didn’t know that and he didn’t need to, so Oliver continued. “I’m sure Detective Lance will make sure you get it back. Now that he knows how much it means to you.” He looked at the detective. “Right?”  
  
Taking a deep breath full of annoyance, Lance said, “Sure.” He sent a pointed glance Oliver’s way. “You should get your wife home. I’ve seen it plenty of times: victims of traumatic situations fretting over meaningless, small things. She’s clearly in shock.”  
  
The detective’s diagnosis was wrong but Oliver couldn’t blame him. After all, he was a cop, not a doctor. And he didn’t know Felicity as well as Oliver did. In fact, Lance didn’t know her at all. But his mistake was the perfect way to get out of here quickly. Oliver’s hand closed around Felicity’s, keeping her from informing Lance that her ring wasn’t a small thing. “You’re right. She needs some rest. As does my sister. My mother took her home. You can get her statement tomorrow.”  
  
The look on Lance’s face spoke volumes. It told Oliver clearly what he thought of the Queens, their arbitrary decision making, and their belief that they could order him around. Despite all that, he nodded. “Fine.” He turned around and headed back toward the SUV.  
  
Oliver let the other man have the satisfaction of getting the last word. Instead, he placed his sole attention on his wife, searching her face. She looked shaken but mostly fine. “Don’t worry about the ring. It’s not a big deal.” He gave her a quick kiss. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”  
  
She smiled weakly. “All thanks to you. So, again, thank you.” The smile vanished. “I need to check on Brad.”  
  
“I already did. He’s in surgery. I made sure he gets the Queen-treatment.” It was a petty thing to say, but the advantages that came with his family name and his family’s money were something he didn’t hesitate to use for a good cause.  
  
“Oh God, his poor fiancée.” Felicity paled. “Do you think I should call her?” Oliver was about to answer when he realized that Felicity’s attention shifted away from him. Her eyes settled on something behind him, making her frown. “Carly?” she asked and stepped around him.  
  
Turning, Oliver saw the woman quite a few steps away on the sidewalk. She looked lost, not reacting to Felicity’s call but simply staring down at the cell phone in her hand. **  
  
** Following his wife, Oliver headed over and saw Carly startle as Felicity stepped to her. “Carly, are you okay?”  
  
“Johnny can’t come.” It was a short, matter-of-fact statement that was uttered with complete confusion. Hearing the hurt in her voice, Oliver tensed up. He stopped a few steps behind Felicity, keeping his distance but listening closely. **  
  
** Felicity’s hand reached for Carly’s arm as the woman continued talking quietly, as if to herself. “He called to check if I was okay. I asked him to come, stay at my place tonight, but he said he couldn’t. He said he was sorry.” Now she looked up and at Felicity. “He’s sorry.”  
  
Seeing the look in Carly’s eyes, the hurt gathering there, Oliver took another step toward her and said, “It’s my fault.” He was perfectly fine with taking the blame, directing Carly’s anger at him. So many people were angry with and disappointed in him, he didn’t mind dealing with more anger if it was for a good cause. “I asked Digg to do something for me. I’m sure he’d rather be here.”  
  
A raised eyebrow was Carly’s first reaction. “You asked him to do _something_?” She huffed. “Let me guess, it was this really important _thing_.” Her eyes drilled into him. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t Johnny’s job protecting you? And you’re here, checking on Felicity, making sure she’s okay. So, what could be more important for Johnny than being here? With you? Checking on me?”  
  
Helplessly, Oliver pressed his lips together. Because he didn’t have an answer that would do. **  
  
** Felicity’s hand tightened in a comforting squeezing around Carly’s arm. “I’m really sorry.”  
  
Hollowly, Carly nodded. “I should get home.”  
  
“Let us take you.”  
  
“No,” Carly took a step away from Felicity, causing her arm to fall from her shoulder. “I think I’d rather walk. Clear my head.” She gave them a curt nod. “Goodnight.” **  
  
** Oliver watched her walk away. Felicity was the one to speak up first. “Okay, that’s it. I need you to take me to the Foundry.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because John’s acting like an ass. And we both know that it really isn’t like him.” The way she said that told Oliver clearly that objecting was nothing but a waste of time and energy. Not bothering to even try to change her mind, he simply gestured for her to lead the way.  
  
_____________________________________________ **  
  
  
** It was a strange realization that giving the police a statement (which was the truth with selected details left unsaid) could become a routine. Felicity realized that while giving Detective Lance her version of what happened. (And while wondering if Quentin Lance was the only policeman actually working in Starling City. He honestly seemed to be in charge of _everything_.)  
  
Climbing out of the SUV, all Felicity had wanted to do was to get her ring back and head home. But seeing the expression on Carly Diggle’s face chased away all thoughts of ending this horrible day. The young woman looked so broken—and not because of robbers pointing a gun at her, but because the man she cared about didn’t show her how much he cared about her. Felicity had seen in on Carly’s face: the shattering disappointment. Carly wasn’t even angry. She was hurt, emotionally. She was confused. It didn’t make any sense to her why John was acting this way, why all she got was a lousy phone call. Carly’s question about what could be more important to John than being with her was right on point.  
  
Felicity wanted to ask John exactly that. She was way too hopped up on adrenaline to find rest anyway and she wasn’t in the mood for a jog. Originally, she had been in the mood for venting some energy with Oliver, but that had dissipated. Now, she was in need of some answers. She hadn’t found them at the Foundry, which had been empty, but they would find them here. **  
  
** It was close to midnight when Felicity knocked on the door to John Diggle’s apartment. It took him quite some time to answer. The expression he greeted them with made it clear that he had checked the peephole and wasn’t exactly happy with what he’d seen. **  
  
** He looked at Oliver. “So, you do know where I live?”  
  
“I’ve always known.” It was a simple statement, as if considering anything else was just unreasonable. **  
  
** Not moving, blocking the way, John looked at the couple standing next to each other in the hall. His eyes travelled to Felicity. “I’m glad you’re okay.”  
  
“Yes,” she said, “I am. But you’re not.” She gestured to his forehead where a bad, sloppily cleaned cut was visible. “What happened there?”  
  
“I appreciate your concern, but I’m not it the mood tonight.”  
  
John’s statement was casual, spoken without much emotion, but it sent the clear message of ‘get lost.’ Felicity blinked at the huge man suddenly appearing much smaller than he really was. She didn’t know what she had expected, but it hadn’t been clear dismissal and open rejection. Neither did anything to waver Felicity’s resolution, though. Much the opposite: it cemented her belief that something was very wrong with John.  
  
Next to her, Oliver squared his shoulders and glared at his partner. “I told you to abort the mission!”  
  
Hearing the aggressive accusation in Oliver’s voice, Felicity slapped his chest. They weren’t here for a lecture; they were here to check on their friend and offer help—but it seemed as if this mission was doomed to fail. The way things were going, they wouldn’t even make it out of the hall and into the apartment. **  
  
** But, strangely, Oliver’s accusation achieved the exact opposite: with a heavy sigh, John stepped to the side and gestured for them to enter. **  
  
** The door had barely shut with a soft click when Oliver turned to the other man, stating with certainty. “You engaged him.”  
  
“Had to.”  
  
“No,” Oliver said forcefully, “you really didn’t!”  
  
“He tried to take out Lyla.” **  
  
** Oliver tensed, pressing his lips together. Felicity decided to step in. Trying to take the edge out of the conversation, she said, “Let me have a look at that cut. I’ve gotten really good with first aid lately.”  
  
But John ignored her offer. Instead, he took a step toward Oliver. “You, of all people, should understand that I couldn’t just let him go. After he tried to kill another person I care about!”  
  
Felicity watched the two men standing opposite each other. Once again, there was a silent communication going on between them, a deeper understanding that was rooted in similar experiences Felicity didn’t share. Taking in the scene, the intense staring going on between the man she loved and her trusted friend, she realized that John didn’t need her right now. He didn’t need her to clean his wound and comfort him. He didn’t need comfort. He needed to vent some frustrations, he needed to get what had happened off his chest, and he needed to do so with somebody he didn’t have to tread lightly around, somebody who could relate to what he was going through. Right in this moment, John needed Oliver. Instinctively, she took a step back. **  
  
** Ending the short break in conversation, Oliver asked, “Was Lyla hurt?”  
  
“No, I got her out of the way in time.”  
  
“What happened then?”  
  
“I saw him, Lawton. _Deadshot_. I saw him head into the stairwell to the parking garage.”  
  
“You followed him.” Again, certainty was audible in Oliver’s statement. It mixed with annoyance vibrating in his voice, growing stronger as he continued talking, “I told you _not_ to engage him.”  
  
“That wasn’t your call to make! You abandoned me there! After you promised me—”  
  
“Don’t!” The word was a clear order mixing with a threat, even though Oliver didn’t shout it. If anything, the lack of volume made it more forceful. Oliver’s eyes were fixed on John, whose chest was heaving, proving his agitation. “I will not apologize for leaving,” Oliver glared at his partner, his voice stronger, louder, but not losing the threatening effect. “I will not apologize for putting people I love first! People you love! Carly was in that diner, Digg. Are you honestly accusing me of abandoning you?!”  
  
John backed away from Oliver. Felicity could see how distressed he was, could practically sense the emotions rioting inside him, tearing at him and at his peace of mind. She wanted to comfort him, to make him feel better, to take the emotional pain away, but before she could think of anything to say, John found his voice again.  
  
“I followed him into that staircase. We fought, he took my gun from me, but he didn’t kill me, didn’t shoot me. Instead he pulled down his shirt.” Diggle motioned to his collar bone. “Right there, he has a tattoo. Andy’s name, permanently inked into his skin, like he does with everybody he kills. Told me there was room left underneath for my name. Then he knocked me out.” He looked at Oliver. “I messed up, man. I could have ended it right there if I had played it a little smarter. Instead, he bested me, mocked me. That bastard!”

“He’s playing mind-games, Digg. You can’t—” **  
  
** “I can’t get the sight out of my head!” John shouted, but fought to quiet down immediately. “Andy’s name, turned into some sick trophy.” **  
  
** Her friend was struggling, Felicity could see it, fighting not to fall apart, to riot, scream, or cry—maybe, even do all three at the same time. There was so much pain inside John and he was keeping a heavy lid on it. But the collective calm that was trademark John Diggle was cracking while he gave his all not to break completely. **  
  
** Maybe that was the reason John hadn’t gone to the Foundry where he could have vented his emotions, where there weren’t any neighbors preventing him from letting it all out, where he knew Oliver and Felicity were likely to confront him. John Diggle couldn’t give up control. **  
  
** “We’ll get him.” Oliver urged. “We’ll take him down. I know you wanted it to be tonight, but—”  
  
“But WHEN?!” John threw his hands up. “How much longer am I supposed to live with the knowledge that my brother’s killer’s out there? Taking pride in the pain he caused me.”  
  
Oliver stared at his partner, needing a moment until he asked in disbelief, “You’re honestly mad that I left?” Oliver shook his head. “When I arrived at the diner a man was pointing a gun at your girlfriend! And my wife! My sister! Who of them would you have traded for the death of Deadshot?” He took a step toward John and asked, forcefully, “Huh!? Who?!”

“You don’t get to lecture me about needing revenge. Not YOU!” John shot back. **  
  
** “Maybe you should worry about that fact that even I know that saving a life always trumps taking one!”  
  
“Okay,” Felicity stepped closer, drawing the attention if not the gazes of the two men. “That’s enough. Take a deep breath, both of you.” Moving next to Oliver, she addressed John. “Nobody here honestly thinks that you’d condone Carly getting hurt over your very understandable vendetta.” She sent Oliver a quick glance. “I know that you’re in pain and that you want to put an end to it. I know that you’re looking for your peace of mind, but you won’t get it like this. You’re about to lose everything.”  
  
John’s eyes were sad and empty as they met Felicity’s. There was a sense of finality in his voice as he said, “I think I already have.” He gestured to the door. “Thanks for stopping by.”


	37. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Girls and guys—I apologize for the long wait. I’m really sorry. I hope to make up for it with this chapter that’s supposed to let us all take a deep breath. Please know that your never-ending awesomeness rocks my world. I can’t thank you enough for the continued support and love you’re sending my way. You’re amazing. Thank you.
> 
> Albiona, you make me see (mostly green) rainbows. Thank you.

**April 11 th, 2013**  
  
Eternity lasted twenty minutes—plus/minus a few minutes.  
  
Sitting in that booth at Big Belly Burger had felt like forever, much longer than it had actually been. It had also been horrible, sure, but mostly it had been an eye-opener. Witnessing Thea being confronted with the gun-swinging robber had made Felicity see her sister-in-law pretty clearly. The way her hands shook, the wild look in her eyes, the strained aggressiveness, the wiggly tension—all of that combined to clear signs of withdrawal. As much as Felicity wished she could pretend differently, there was no way around the truth. Thea needed help, professional help, better help than she or Oliver or Moira or anybody who cared about her could give her.  
  
The mission today was to get Thea what she needed.  
  
The heaviness in her bones proved that Felicity needed this mission as much as her sister-in-law did. She hadn’t found any sleep last night. Worried thoughts had kept her awake, had caused her to toss and turn in her bed until Oliver had popped up on his elbow next to her and demanded she talked to him.  
  
The result had been a rambled mess revolving around Thea being addicted and John breaking his own heart.  
  
Now, she settled her eyes on Oliver in the driver’s seat of the Bentley. Quiet, looking tense, he was dreading reaching Queen Mansion. The way his hands tightly gripped the steering wheel was proof of the uneasiness filling him. But he was here—voluntarily. The latter was important, very important. Because Felicity wouldn’t have accepted a rejection this time, she would have forced him to join her on this mission and present a united front.  
  
But she didn’t have to.  
  
After her worrisome rant about the mess that was their evening and about the things she felt they needed to do with regards to Thea, he had looked at her and had said “you’re right” in that definite tone of his that spoke of a made up mind and unwavering certainty. It was only the second time she could think of he had said that sentence. And just like Thanksgiving, when he had told her she had been right forcing him to invite his family, this second time had been a pretty perfect moment for him to agree with her completely. In that pretty perfect moment, not kissing him hadn’t even been an option, neither had not folding into his body or not giving into his soft caresses.  
  
Resisting Oliver was futile anyway.  
  
“Felicity,” Oliver’s voice brought her back to the luxurious compartment inside the Bentley. “Do I even want to know what you’re thinking about right now?”  
  
He never took his eyes off the street spreading out in front of him, but hers were still on him. Leaving her memories behind, the flashback that had taken her to the previous night, she noticed a stupid smile had taken over her face. She dimmed it down a little and said, softly, “I love you.”  
  
His eyes flickered to her in positive surprise. He hadn’t expected this answer, but it summed everything up perfectly. In this ordinary moment she was filled with her love for him to the brink, because he made ordinary moments special.  
  
Her smile turned a little bit more teasing. “You said I was _right_ last night.”  
  
Again, his gaze jumped to her shortly, matching her teasing, he said, “And that’s why you love me?”  
  
She noticed that his grip loosened a little on the steering wheel. Her ponytail bounced slightly as she shook her head, “No, I love you because you’re here, even though you seriously dread what’s about to happen.”  
  
This time he dared to take his eyes off the road for a moment longer. “Of course,” he said. “We’re a team.”  
  
It was the perfect thing for him to say in this moment. It also was Oliver’s version of saying ‘I love you,’ Felicity knew and she felt a flutter in her chest. Felicity also knew he wasn’t in the right headspace to say those exact words to her right now. He was filled with so much anxiety over confronting Thea, probably against his mother’s wishes, that there wasn’t any room left for light-hearted declarations of love—especially since he never told her he loved her lightly. He showed her, he showed her plenty, and she didn’t doubt his feelings for her, but the words didn’t leave his lips easily. He handled them with so much care. They were special and he treated them accordingly. That made hearing them much more special. Felicity still remembered every single time he had said ‘I love you’ to her. Each time was a perfect moment to cherish, and she did.  
  
Comfortable silence settled around them. The street leading up to the Queens’ home was deserted, as it mostly was. The rich of Starling City had built their mansions on a hill overlooking the city below. As was fitting for the pecking order of this city, Queen Mansion was located highest up and farthest away from everything and everybody else, which might seem adequately posh in theory, but resulted in annoyingly long drives in practice. Felicity glanced at the clock in the cockpit. It was nearly nine. She had a really, really important meeting at 10:30. Going into this conversation (aka possible confrontation) with a time restraint wasn’t the best starting ground.  
  
Following this thought, she turned her attention back to Oliver, “We need to stay calm. There’s no use trying to bully Thea into what we think is best for her.”  
  
Steering the Bentley off the main road and onto the drive leading up the mansion, Oliver pursed his lips. “You said that.”  
  
“I did. And I’ll say it again, trying the whole learning by repetition thing. We need to stay calm.”  
  
“Which means: _I_ need to stay calm.”  
  
“Well, calm is my middle name while yours is temper tantrum.”  
  
He sent her a look that was half consternation and half amusement but said nothing as the mansion came into view—including Moira and Thea Queen. Thea was marching across the white gravel path with huge, forceful steps. The way her arms swung by her sides made it clear that she was angry. Moira was following her, obviously pleading with her, stretching her right hand out to her, saying something.  
  
“Okay, I was wrong. Thea’s middle name is temper tantrum. You’re practically a Zen master compared to her.” The words flew from Felicity’s mouth before she could stop them. But they were confirmed in the way Thea shot around and faced her mother, yelling something at her that made Moira flinch.  
  
“What the hell’s going on _now_?!” The gravel scrunched louder under the tires as Oliver accelerated a little bit, but by the time he stopped the car in front of the house Thea was already in her Audi (the substitute for the BMW she had crashed after her birthday—of course, it was also a convertible) and starting the engine. She was speeding past them, just as Oliver and Felicity opened the doors to get out of their car.  
  
“What happened?” Oliver called out to his mother.  
  
“Your sister isn’t happy with me.”  
  
“Yeah,” Oliver said, slamming the door shut, “I got that. Why?”  
  
Moira sighed and walked toward Oliver and Felicity, meeting them halfway. “She overheard a phone conversation I had with a… clinic. I only wanted to gather basic information, some advice. I didn’t expect your sister to actually be up this early. I thought she would want to skip her internship hours today.”  
  
Hearing that, Oliver pressed his lips together, but Felicity couldn’t help but feel relieved. She had expected that Moira would hate the suggestion of sending Thea to rehab. That most definitely didn’t fit the image of the perfect family Moira fought to present publicly. But this perfection had been imaginary for as long as Felicity had been a part of the Queen family. The sudden thought that Moira was done with the bad acting sent a positive sensation through Felicity. To Moira a good reputation had always equaled the best she could give her family. It hadn’t done her children, especially her daughter, any good. But sending Thea to rehab was doing the right thing, even if it wasn’t popular or good PR.  
  
“We’re here for the same reason,” Felicity said. “We wanted to talk to Thea about getting professional help.”  
  
“She doesn’t want it.” Moira’s eyes were tired and sad. Apparently none of the three Queens standing in front of the castle-like house had gotten much sleep last night and they all looked the part this morning. “She said she was fine,” Moira continued. “She claims she was perfectly fine yesterday and that she only took what the medic gave her. She says she can do this on her own.”  
  
“She was high last night when I came to the diner,” Oliver stated and the way his voice vibrated showed Felicity that she hadn’t repeated her ‘We need to stay calm’-mantra long enough. “That wasn’t just some calmative a medic gave her. She _can’t_ do this on her own.”  
  
“I am aware of that, Oliver.” Moira shot back. “Which is why I called the Waterhouse Residential Treatment Center.”  
  
“And?” Oliver urged.  
  
“And we need Thea’s consent. She’s eighteen. If the court doesn’t order it, we cannot force her to go there.”  
  
“Oh! I can force her.”  
  
“No,” Moira corrected her son. “You can’t, because if she doesn’t want this, doesn’t admit that she needs help, it won’t be any use.”  
  
Reaching for Oliver’s hand, Felicity stopped him from answering and arguing with his mother for no other reason than being frustrated with his sister. “You know Thea,” she reasoned. “She’s always quick to blow up. Maybe digitizing files at the CNRI will give her time to think things through. We can always try to talk to her again.”  
  
Moira nodded. “Yes, I think that would be a good idea.”  
  
“Moira, we’re with you on this,” Felicity promised her mother-in-law. “We’ll support you any way you need us to.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Moira’s eyes rested on Oliver, who hesitated another second before he nodded. “Anything, mom. We’ll do this together.”  
  
Despite the topic, a moved smile showed on the older woman’s face. “Like a family.”  
  
_________________________________________________  
  
  
Putting the fear of God into his sister wasn’t an option. At least, Felicity had claimed it wasn’t.  
  
But Oliver longed for nothing more than to scare his sister straight, which in Thea’s case meant scaring her into sobriety. He didn’t have the patience to reason with her until she accepted that she was an idiot. But he had the skillset to grab her, ignore her kicking, screaming, and bitching, and pull her all the way to the rehab his mother said came highly recommended.  
  
Whose recommendation Moira Queen based her assessment on, Oliver didn’t have the slightest idea. The circle the Queen family ran in wasn’t exactly known for openly admitting to indecencies—the one-percenters preferred sweeping them under the rug, as evidenced by the uncounted Ollie Queen indecencies that had been hidden away and ignored. Or maybe Oliver had this all wrong. Maybe, the idle rich of Starling City did share rehab-advice, maybe a stint in rehab was like getting Botox or recommending a trendy restaurant.  
  
Oliver didn’t know where these thoughts came from. They weren’t exactly productive. All they did was distract him from actually acknowledging that his baby sister was a mess, an addicted mess, drinking, snorting, swallowing her insecurities away, numbing her feelings by giving in to fake euphoria.  
  
The force he used to kick his training dummy as that thought entered his mind, the sweat coating his body after one hour of aggressively working out, were signs that he wasn’t in any position to judge her. Oliver knew he had his own coping mechanisms—many of them not exactly healthy. Oliver knew he might have fallen into a dark hole of fury, violence, and loneliness if it weren’t for Felicity. She had kept him from giving in to this side of himself completely. She was the light that guided him into the safe harbor of her arms every night. He knew that she was the reason why he wasn’t as messed up as his sister.  
  
That knowledge didn’t reduce his disappointment, though. Thea was supposed to be better than him. But she wasn’t, in some ways she was worse than he was. Felicity had described the way Thea acted last night to Oliver in great detail and that had forced him to leave the comfortable state of denial behind. Last night, while Felicity had talked heatedly and fast, Oliver had decided that his plan to keep his distance wasn’t working. He had decided to take action.  
  
And now he couldn’t act on this decision. He was reduced to doing nothing, because Thea needed to give her consent, which they wouldn’t get, because Thea was an addict and not known for her reasonable decisions anyway. If that wasn’t fucked up and a perfect reason to attack his training dummy with a vengeance, Oliver didn’t know what was.  
  
“What happened?”  
  
John Diggle’s question didn’t stop Oliver’s relentless hitting. His hands prickled from connecting with the horizontal wooden sticks protruding from the vertical base. Oliver wasn’t surprised to hear Digg’s voice; he had heard his partner come down the stairs and walk toward the training area.  
  
After one last especially forceful hit that caused the training dummy to rattle loudly, Oliver straightened up. “My sister refuses to go to rehab.”  
  
John nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a problem hooding up won’t solve.”  
  
“That’s what I’ve been told.” Oliver tensed for a second but forced himself to relax a little. He turned to the other man standing a few steps away, looking exhausted and sad. The sight his partner presented caused Oliver’s voice to soften even more, “I expected you to show up sooner.”  
  
“I had to go see Carly first.”  
  
“You broke up with her,” Oliver stated with certainty.  
  
He had drawn that conclusion after seeing Diggle last night. Everything Oliver had witnessed yesterday pointed to it. Because of that, the nod Diggle gave him didn’t come as a surprise. “I had to.”  
  
“I don’t think you _had_ _to_.”  
  
“I told you,” Diggle said calmly, “this whole thing works for you and Felicity, but I can’t let Carly see that side of me. This ugly side that’s so full of rage. I’m not good for her, I’m not good for her _son_.” He brought his hands up to his head, needing a moment to collect himself.  
  
Silently standing opposite him, Oliver gave his partner the time he needed. He wouldn’t tell Diggle that he had been struggling with revealing his ugly self, too. Oliver had been in this very room and had tried to tell Felicity not to come here again. He’d wanted to keep her from witnessing all of the rage that turned him into a killing machine unable to have a normal conversation without lashing out. But Felicity hadn’t let herself be pushed away, she had demanded to see all of him, hadn’t been scared by him, had told him she loved all of him. She wanted and accepted everything of him—and he had given all of himself to her.  
  
That night had been the real starting point of their relationship, of their love, because it had been the night he had understood that he didn’t need to save her from himself. He wouldn’t scare her away, he wouldn’t corrupt her, he needed to do nothing but love her and let himself be loved—and that came naturally. Since that night things were easy between them, things were settled, thanks to the knowledge that their love was all-including, that they could be weak and weird, angry and annoyed with each other. None of that rattled the trust and connection that lay underneath.  
  
But Diggle didn’t need to hear all of that. Oliver knew his friend had made a decision that was best for him, and Oliver accepted and respected that. Digg was right: just because things worked for Felicity and Oliver, they didn’t have to work for everybody else.  
  
Oliver saw important differences very clearly: he had desperately wanted to let Felicity in, Diggle didn’t want to be near Carly. Felicity had fought Oliver to stay close to him, Carly had obviously let herself be pushed away. All of that told Oliver not to get involved.  
  
Diggle looked more collected as he let his hands drop again. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I was in a bad place. Of course, you did the right thing going to the diner.”  
  
“Digg,” Oliver said softly, “don’t worry. I know.”  
  
Slowly, the soldier nodded. “Thanks.”  
  
“We’ll get Lawton.” Oliver stated, his voice not leaving any room for doubt. There were so many things he didn’t exactly know how to handle: Thea, Merlyn, the other archer. But when it came to Deadshot there wasn’t the slightest uncertainty within Oliver. “Next time he’s in the area, I’ll take him out.”  
  
  
  
**April 20 th, 2013**  
  
Brad Foster would get married in two months. That was some of the best news Felicity had ever gotten. Her bodyguard had survived thanks to emergency surgery and would make a full recovery. Visiting him in the hospital, meeting his fiancée Melody had eased Felicity’s worries. Brad blamed himself for not noticing the second man by the counter (Oliver hadn’t commented on that—which told Felicity more than enough) and had offered his resignation to Oliver. Felicity had told Brad that they wouldn’t accept it and that, if he wanted to come back to their security squad, he was more than welcome. Oliver had no other choice but to nod along. (He also had to agree to give Brad and Melody Foster an amazing wedding gift in the form of a honeymoon in Aruba.)  
  
The realization that she had made her peace with having a security squad hit her belatedly (but forcefully) twenty minutes later, sitting in the car driven by Jacob Weyman (ex-addict, three times West Coast USA Super Heavyweight Champion, divorced with three kids, closeted Taylor Swift fan), who Oliver had selected to fill in for Brad.  
  
She had given up, had stopped resisting, because lately there had been too much evidence supporting Oliver’s claim that there were very real dangers out there. Accepting that had brought another decision with it.  
  
“I’m thinking about taking self-defense lessons.”  
  
Kristina’s face showed her surprise at her best friend’s declaration. The brunette had just arrived at Oliver and Felicity’s apartment and, standing next to her in the kitchen, watched as Felicity poured a glass of Diet Coke. “You do? Why?”  
  
Felicity placed her sole attention on Kristina. “You’re seriously asking? With everything that’s happened?” She sighed. “I feel like I can’t keep on relaying on other people so much.” Her shoulders sank a little. “You think it’s a bad idea?”  
  
“No.” Kristina hurried to say. “I think it’s good. You should do that. As long as you won’t overestimate your abilities next time a robber waves a gun in your face.”  
  
Felicity handed the filled glass to her best friend. “Don’t say that as if it’s a certainty. There won’t be a next time of anybody waving any kind of firearm anywhere near my general direction!”  
  
“Of course, there won’t be!” Kristina took a sip of her Diet Coke. Tilting her head, she looked at her best friend. “You know what? I think self-defense classes are a great idea—in general. Women should know how to protect themselves. We should provide free self-defense lessons at the RQM. For all those girls that can’t afford an army of security guards.”  
  
“Okay,” Felicity met her best friend’s eyes, “I can hear the judgment in that sentence, but that doesn’t change the fact that that’s a great idea.”  
  
“It is, isn’t it?” Nodding thoughtfully, the head nurse of the Robert Queen Memorial considered this for a second. “I guess I’ll have to ask your mother-in-law if she’s willing to cover the costs. It’s most definitely not in the budget.”  
  
“Don’t bother,” Felicity said. “I’ll sponsor the classes.”  
  
“You don’t have to—”  
  
“I know. I want to. It’s a great idea, a good cause. It’s decided.”  
  
“Wow. Look at you, all CEO and business-y. I dig that.” Tina smiled. “Thank you.” She took another gulp of her Coke. “That feels like something we should drink to, but I have to drive Marcus to the airport tomorrow morning.”  
  
Felicity smirked. “I doubt that one glass of wine’ll interfere with that.”  
  
“That’s true.” Kristina only hesitated for a millisecond. “One glass is okay.”  
~~  
~~ Biting back a grin, Felicity opened the cupboard storing the wine glasses. Kristina had been eyeing the Merlot standing on the counter even before she had asked for ‘just a Coke.’ “Where’s Marcus travelling to?”

“New England. His sister’s marrying somewhere in Maine. For a second I was honestly worried that he’d invite me, but – thank God – he didn’t.”  
  
“Why are we thanking God for that?”  
  
Watching Felicity open the wine, Tina smirked. “I know that the concept of taking things slow is completely foreign to you, but Marcus and I have only officially been dating for three weeks. A wedding date plus meeting the family after not even one month is overkill to normal people.”  
  
“Are you saying I’m not normal?”  
  
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”  
  
Kristina’s eyes were still on Felicity, who was pouring the red liquid into big-bellied glasses. Tina stopped her best friend after she had barely filled one quarter of the first glass with a “Thanks, that’s enough.” Felicity filled the second glass with about the same amount of wine and then held one out to Kristina, who took it, continuing the previous conversation. “I mean, nothing any Queen does is normal. Look at the bachelor party Hubby’s throwing tonight. He honestly rented Red? Like the whole brothel?”  
  
“It’s a strip club.”  
  
“Riiight.” Kristina nodded mockingly. “‘Cause that’s a better question to ask: your husband rented the whole strip club?”  
  
“He did,” Felicity confirmed and headed around the counter to sit down on the couch, her friend following. “As far as I understood that’s an improvement. He once _bought_ a strip club to celebrate Tommy’s birthday. Renting is the better option, I think. I don’t see myself as a co-owner of such an establishment. Or as the boss of an undisclosed number of strippers. I have my hands full being Tak’s boss.”  
  
Kristina chucked. “I think Tak counts for at least ten strippers. Drama-wise.” She winked but quickly turned serious again. “Honestly, though...” Shaking her head, Tina sank down next to Felicity and slipped her shoes off. “That’s a pretty cliché thing to do, isn’t it? The whole bachelor-party-stripper-thing? I honestly thought Hubby’d moved on from that.”  
  
“The groom requested one last epic party.” Felicity didn’t manage to say that sentence without a sigh in her voice. Tina was absolutely right: it was a cliché thing to do. It was a cliché thing that Oliver had moved past, but at the same time he had moved toward wanting to do things for other people—even if that meant falling back into old habits one last time to be a good best man. The fact that he was the best man of his childhood friend whose father he planned on… stopping… had only managed to increase the effort Oliver put into this whole she-bang.  
  
Popping her feet up on the coffee table, Felicity got comfortable. “So Oliver went all out,” she said, “he mentioned something about burning man meeting Shawshank Redemption. The invitations said: come before Tommy Merlyn gets off.”  
  
“Classy.”  
  
“My husband bought the strippers themed uniforms: sexy prisoners and sexy cops—and that’s a sentence I never thought I’d say.”  
  
Kristina chuckled. “That’s one of the reasons why you and your hubby are not normal.” She took a sip of her wine. “I take it you’re not worried about this.”  
  
Felicity frowned. “About Oliver being in a strip club? Why would I be?” Considering all the things Oliver did on a regular evening, a night partying with girls undressing seemed like a walk in the park to Felicity.  
  
“Good.” Tina nodded. “I’d worry if you were worried."  
  
“To be honest I’m enjoy this bachelor party because I’m sure Laurel absolutely _hates_ it.”  
  
_____________________________________________  
  
  
Oliver saw Red.  
  
The name-giving color of this establishment was everywhere. The velvet covered walls: red. The leather of the chairs: red. The illumination behind the frosted glass that was the bar: red. The hair of the woman gliding down the pole on the center stage head first with her legs stretched to a perfect split: red. The flaming color met gold—in the birdcages dangling from the ceiling in which topless girls were sitting on swings, in the glitter sparkling from the naked skin all around, in the whiskey glasses standing in front of the male visitors.  
  
Normally, Oliver preferred Scotch – neat – but Tommy was a whiskey-guy and Oliver didn’t plan on drinking anything anyway. So, it really didn’t matter what filled the glass standing in front of him. The whole purpose of the drink was to keep up the act that he was enjoying himself—which he wasn’t. He hated everything about this: starting with the cheesy décor, continuing with the glittery girls, and not ending with the whiskey.  
  
A brunette strutted toward him, swaying her hips, sending him a smile full of suggestion. She stopped in front of Oliver’s chair and leaned toward his ear, making sure he got an eye full of her impressively made cleavage. “The whole club is yours tonight. That includes the backrooms.” She turned her head and her lips hovered closely over his ear, nearly touching it. “I just thought you should know.”  
  
“I’m aware of that,” Oliver told her. “My guests are free to use them if they wish.” He reached into his pocket where he kept a big bundle of dollar bills. He took two hundreds and slipped them under the strap of her panties—which were red, of course. “Why don’t you see if anybody’s interested?”  
  
Taking the hint, she sent him a glance full of disappointment before strutting to the next table.  
  
“I’m getting nostalgic.” Heavily, Tommy let himself drop on a chair next to Oliver. “This feels like 2005. Even though, if this were 2005, that gorgeous brunette over there would be giving me a lap dance right about now.”  
  
Tommy wore a blue denim shirt with a black number (050413 – his wedding date) stitched on the right chest pocket to make him look like a convict to go with this whole theme. Looking at him, Oliver wondered what Tommy meant: did he want to leave or did he want a lap dance? Oliver honestly had no idea. He was winging it with this whole party and going with the cliché had felt safest. “I wanted a throwback party to live up to the requested epic-ness. Too much?”  
  
“No, this feels appropriately inappropriate.” Tommy smirked. “This evening’s full of revelations.” He gestured to a blonde swinging in one of the birdcages, “That’s Caroline Jenkins. Remember her? We went to high school together. She never let me copy her chemistry homework.”  
  
“I guess it’s true what they say: you always meet twice. And this is only the first stop, don’t worry.” Oliver held his glass out to Tommy. “Drink up. This is your bachelor party and you’re way too sober.”  
  
“Oh,” Tommy emptied the offered glass in one huge gulp. He smirked, “I wouldn’t want to ruin my reputation by not drinking enough.”  
  
______________________________________________  
  
  
A warm feeling spread inside Felicity. The Merlot was partly responsible because, after the first small glass, she had added a second, larger one. She had tomorrow off after all and could indulge in a second glass of wine. But the main reason for the warmth was her best friend, who seemed so at ease. Her job, the good guy she was dating, the future she was looking at—all of that combined to a very happy Kristina (who, by the way, had refilled her glass, too, because the Merlot was amazing and the sip in the first glass was so small, it barely counted.)  
  
Felicity reached for the bottle to refill her own empty glass. “Marcus started jogging?”  
  
“He did,” Kristina confirmed and held her own empty glass out to Felicity, “I think it’s Hubby’s fault. Marcus couldn’t stop talking about how built he is after our dinner. I think my boyfriend has a man-crush on your husband.”  
  
Felicity laughed. “Line forms behind Tak.”  
  
“You know, from a medical point of view, I can’t be opposed to him getting fit. He eats way too much sugar. But that’s the nurse talking.”  
  
“What does the woman in you say?”  
  
“That I love his tummy. I love cuddling with him.”  
  
“Didn’t you remind Tak on the importance of stamina?” She winked and placed the now empty bottle back on the coffee table. “And rightfully so: keeping up’s always a good thing.”  
  
“Uuuh! Felicity Queen!” Kristina nodded in appreciation before chuckling, “For you that was downright dirty. I must say you’ve changed since you started get laid regularly.”  
  
Felicity nearly choked on the sip of wine she had taken. Her eyes watered and she rasped out. “What?”  
  
“The sex,” Kristina stated casually, “it’s good for you. You’re more relaxed. I like satisfied-you.”  
  
Felicity stared at her friend. “I don’t know what to say to that.”  
  
“You don’t have to say anything. I can see it all in your eyes: the contentment that comes with regular orgasms.” Felicity felt herself starting to blush but Kristina only smiled honestly. “Good for you, hon.” She took a swig of her wine. “Okay, topic change: how are things with Thea?”  
  
An unhappy grunt was Felicity’s first reaction. It summed up all of last week perfectly, but of course Felicity added more words, “Not good. No, that’s not strong enough. Things are really bad. Like, _really_ bad. Thea moved out of the mansion, she refuses to talk to Moira, Oliver, Walter, or me. She insists she’s fine and doesn’t need rehab—her way of proving that is by doing her community service which is… an upside, I guess.”  
  
“Where’s she living? … No!” Kristina said quickly before Felicity could answer, “Let me guess: she’s with the Abercrombie dude?”  
  
“Yes, she’s staying at his place in the Glades. Oliver’s thrown a fit!” That was the polite way of describing his furious outburst that had ended with a water bottle thrown across the Foundry and Felicity and John struggling to keep him from going down there to bitch at Thea and possibly punch Roy.  
  
“Did he throw a fit because she’s living with her boyfriend or because she’s living in the Glades?”  
  
“The boyfriend thing mainly got to him. In his mind, Thea’s still twelve and innocent.”  
  
“Pff,” Kristina rolled her eyes. “Male denial.”  
  
“She’s his sister.”  
  
Snuggling into the couch, Kristina took another sip of red. Thoughtfully, she tipped her head to the side, watching her best friend. “Do you know what I noticed?” She didn’t give Felicity time to answer, continuing, “Hubby likes to call you his wife.”  
  
Felicity frowned. “What do you mean?”  
  
“I mean, you mostly call him Oliver. But he very often says ‘my wife.’ Emphasis of the _my_.”  
  
Taking another sip, Felicity contemplated her friend’s words. She hadn’t noticed but now that she thought about it…. “He does.” He had even before they had turned from paper-spouses to having a real relationship. “I think it’s a male possessive thing. I also think I should be more opposed to it than I really am.”  
  
The truth was that she wasn’t opposed to it at all: she liked being his, liked the feeling of belonging to Oliver. It wasn’t about possession, it was an emotional connection, a kind of exclusiveness that she enjoyed. It wasn’t confining because Oliver never kept her. He had her, her heart, her trust, and her love, and he never felt the need to limit her independence because of that. And even though she might not say it as often as he did, she enjoyed that he was hers as much as she enjoyed being his.  
  
Kristina’s laughter cut through her thoughts. “Come on, I know you dig it.”  
  
Her best friend knew her too well, there was no denying it. “I dooo.”  
  
“But you rarely call him your husband.”  
  
“That’s not true. I do call him that.”  
  
“Rarely. And ever rare-er in earnest. You use it like an official title as in, ‘let me introduce you to my husband.’ Or you’re teasing and using it to make something sound outrageous, like, ‘my husband’s buying clothes for strippers.’”  
  
Playing for time, Felicity took another sip of wine. But feeling the knowing glance of her best friend, she couldn’t help but be honest. She let the glass sink again. “I know. You’re right.” She sighed, admitting, “I know we’re married, but… it feels weird. I love him, we’re committed, but our wedding was a drunken mess. I sometimes feel like it doesn’t really count… emotionally.”  
  
“I disagree.” Kristina took a huge gulp of wine. “I think it counts—especially emotionally. He’s your husband on paper and in your heart, hon. If we’re real about this, marriage is nothing but a legal contract between two people and you both signed up for that. It’s up to every couple to turn this unromantic document into something special, and you and Hubby do that.”  
  
Felicity looked at her best friend, feeling a little awed. “You think that?”  
  
“I know that.” Kristina brought her glass to her lips only to notice there was nothing left. The bottle stood empty on the table. The two women looked at it and then at each other until it was settled. Felicity got up—to get more Merlot.  
  
_______________________________________________  
  
  
The fire was hot and bright. Flames flickered, illuminating the darkness, creeping up in the night sky. Sparks burst from the dry wood that was cracking while the fire sizzled. Twenty men stood around it. All attendants of Tommy Merlyn’s bachelor party had gathered to throw a part of Tommy’s partying past into the fire. Tommy himself had brought his black book.  
  
Oliver had forgotten – or probably suppressed – that Tommy Merlyn had been cliché enough to own one of those. Oliver, being a man with a notebook containing a list of names for a very different purpose, knew that he couldn’t really judge his friend and instead decided to enjoy the gesture of commitment that was throwing his dating past into the fire.  
  
Oliver had searched his old room in Queen Mansion for something to burn and he had found too much. Tommy had used his bedroom far too often for his own… whatever and left too many reminders behind. Oliver had brought a huge box filled with memories of their combined indecencies for people to pick burning material from. Like their Miss USA-series that had been broken by a boating trip: Oliver had thrown pink panties into the fire, courtesy of Miss USA 2004, collected by Tommy Merlyn, the bra of Miss USA 2005, also claimed by Tommy Merlyn, and a Polaroid of a very naked Miss USA 2006 kneeling and looking up into the camera, taken by Oliver Queen. That needed to go. All of it needed to burn bright.  
  
If Oliver was honest, this fire was as much for his own benefit as for Tommy’s—maybe even more. He needed to see all of his horrible past go up in flames.  
  
The men cheered as a pile of mug shots were tossed into the fire—proof that Tommy had been the King of the DUI in Starling City.  
  
The king was swaying next to his best man—whiskey made him lose his balance. “Ollie, man, this is better than the strippers.”  
  
Oliver smirked. “A sentence I never thought I’d hear you say.”  
  
Tommy laughed drunkenly. “I’m waiting for the four horsemen to ride up, too. Seems like an apocaly—” He gave up struggling with the word too big for his alcohol clouded mind and instead turned serious, “No, really, I looked at those girls and all I could think was: not Laurel.”  
  
Reaching for his friends shoulder – which was a gesture of connection as much as it was an effort to steady his wobbling buddy – Oliver said, “That’s good, man. I’m happy for you.”  
  
“I feel like I should freak that, starting in two weeks, I’m supposed to only have sex with one woman.”  
  
Oliver raised an eyebrow. “Starting in two weeks? I think you’ve been dating Laurel for three years.”  
  
“You know what I mean. I feel like I should freak out, but… nothing. Do you know what I mean?”  
  
“Yes. I do.” He knew perfectly. Even though, unlike his friend, Oliver hadn’t contemplated the strippers, hadn’t even thought about comparing any of them to Felicity. They had been there, but not on his mind. But Oliver knew what his friend was trying to tell him and he felt the same way: touching anybody who wasn’t the one he loved didn’t interest him.  
  
“Guess that’s love,” Tommy Merlyn, drunk philosopher, said. “Guess it only took the right woman.”  
  
“I guess you’re right.” Oliver felt his phone vibrate in his pants. “Man, I gotta hit the bushes. I’ll be right back.” Letting go of Tommy, who swayed to the right instantly but caught himself, Oliver hurried across the parking lot in front of the bar that was their next and final stop. Quickly, he answered his phone, “Digg.”  
  
His partner’s calm voice hit his ears. “Man, sorry to interrupt. But Felicity’s search program popped up: Nicolas Frakes, an arms dealer from your list, is brokering a deal right around the corner from where you are. Do you want to look into that?”  
  
Oliver glanced back at the group of drunk men gathering around a fire, hooting as they threw another pair of panties in the flames, and knew there was only one honest answer to this question. “Definitely.”  
  
______________________________________________  
  
  
The warehouse lay in complete darkness but Oliver knew that Diggle had given him the right address. The expensive cars parked right out front were a clear sign, as was the huge guy standing guard in front of the entrance.  
  
He was the first one that The Hood took out. Sliding down a rope from the higher adjoining building, Oliver landed on the roof of the warehouse without the barest sound. Creeping forward, Oliver approached the nearest skylight. The dirty glass fogged up the view, but Oliver could see dim light and five people around a huge table. As best he could see, heavy machineguns rested on top. He activated the communication system connecting him to the Foundry where John Diggle was spending his Saturday night for the lack of anything better to do. “I’m on site,” he informed his partner, whispering, “Frakes is looking to sell M2 Brownings.”  
  
“That’s heavy weaponry.”  
  
Oliver kept from telling Diggle that he was aware. Instead, he said. “I’m going in. Call SCPD.” Not waiting for other man’s reaction, Oliver rammed a hook into the metal roof next to him and jumped: The Hood crashed through the skylight, shards spraying everywhere. The rope guided his decent. His feet had barely touched the ground when the first arrow had already taken the main target out. He didn’t feel like prolonging this fight unnecessarily, time was lacking and he had come here to get a job done. Frakes, the arms dealer, sank to the ground with an arrow in his chest, while the second arrow already flew to another man, hitting him in the leg, causing him to scream.  
  
The Hood rushed forward. His fist closed tightly around his bow as both connected with a nose. The man he had hit stumbled backward, blood gushing out of his nostrils. The Hood aimed another arrow, wrapping a cable around two men standing close next to each other, tying them together. Suddenly he felt a heavy push from behind. A sixth man he hadn’t seen before had brought the sole of his foot against The Hood’s back, causing the vigilante to take a huge step forward. But he caught himself and turned around, only be greeted with a fist.  
  
Anger flared—at himself for missing that guy before, at the guy for hitting him. It propelled The Hood forward. Pushing off the ground, he jumped up with his fist raised behind his head, only to bring it down to the man’s face with the force of the jump. His opponent stumbled backward and Oliver added another kick that knocked the guy out. The Hood turned around quickly, this time sensing an attacker approaching from behind. The guy with the bloody nose was still on his feet and coming for him. The Hood’s hand slammed forward against the man’s throat, whose hands flew up to his neck as he struggled to breathe. Another kick ended this struggle. The force The Hood had put behind it sent the bleeding man backward. Hitting his head on a nearby crate, the man lost consciousness and sank to the ground.  
  
Noticing the man with the arrow in his thigh limping toward the exit in an effort to escape, The Hood brought his bow up again. Another arrow shot through the air, hitting his goal perfectly, nailing the man’s hand to the wall as another scream echoed through the warehouse. The Hood took a final moment to make sure that he hadn’t overlooked anybody else and that everybody was secured for the police to pick up.  
  
Two minutes after he had crashed through the window, The Hood left the building.  
  
_____________________________________________________  
  
  
The warmth had turned into heat. Felicity felt like she was burning, her cheeks were red, she knew, but she didn’t mind. She felt light-headed in a carefree kind of way. Her eyes, which were a little bit more heavy-lidded than they normally were, rested on Kristina who was on the floor next to her, their backs resting against the couch, their legs stretched out.  
  
“Can I ask you something?”  
  
The question was so unexpected coming from Kristina that Felicity turned her head to look at her intently. “You never ask if you can ask. You just ask whatever you want to ask.” Felicity blinked at the mess that was that sentence, but couldn’t find any flaw in her reasoning.  
  
Kristina nodded. “True.” Her tongue was a bit heavier than usual. “But I’ve been meaning to ask you this for a while. For months, actually, but I never had to guts to do it.”  
  
Felicity still stared at her best friend, whose cheeks were flushed, too. She had taken off her sweater jacket and was only wearing a tank top. “Okay, you’re scaring me. I mean not _scaring me_ scaring me, but this is… worrying. Please, just ask.”  
  
Bringing her glass to her lips again and finding it empty, Tina straightened up a little. “Okay, here it comes…. What are you keeping from me?”  
  
The Merlot slowed Felicity down, it took a second until the words reached her brain, until they resonated within her. When they did, the heat increased and all she could say was, “What?”  
  
“Don’t play dumb with me, hon, you’re too smart for that. And I can’t shake off the feeling that there’s something you’re keeping from me. It bugs me. It’s a mystery—and you know what needs to be done with those.”  
  
Now Felicity raised her glass, but it was as empty as was the second bottle of Merlot.  
  
She should have known that her best friend would notice, she should have known she couldn’t keep this from her forever. Guilt hit her suddenly and unexpectedly. She was keeping so much from her best friend, so many things that were huge. Felicity hadn’t thought much about it before, hadn’t let herself do so, but now the wrongness of her actions came crashing down on her. They brought a moralistic dilemma with them: it was wrong to keep secrets from her best friend, but it was also wrong to betray Oliver’s trust and reveal a secret that wasn’t hers to tell.  
  
Felicity swallowed heavily. “Yes. There’s something I’m keeping from you, something huge. I’m worried how you react when you find out.”  
  
“Tell me.”  
  
It was a simple demand that had to be followed. Felicity took another second to collect herself, she forced herself to meet her friend’s eyes. She knew that only the red wine circling her system gave her the courage to say the next sentence. “The first song Oliver and I danced to after his return to Starling was by Rihanna. Oliver says it’s our song.”  
  
Kristina gasped. “Nooo.”  
  
“I’m sorry. I violated the Rihanna-ban.”  
  
“Your song is a Rihanna-song.” Kristina’s eyes were huge. “Which one? And don’t say ‘Di—’”  
  
“‘Diamonds.’”  
  
“NOOOOO.”

“I’m so sorry.” Felicity dug her brain to find an upside to all of this, some kind of silver lining. She only found the barest illumination. “At least it’s not ‘Umbrella.’”  
  
“Ugh! I despise that song! That song ruined a perfectly perfect night.”  
  
“I know. I’m so sorry. I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how. It was an accident. I just wanted to get away from Tommy and that song started playing and… Oliver says he likes it—”  
  
“He _doesn’t_!”  
  
“Let me finish: Oliver likes it _better_ than the first song we danced to, which is ‘Sexy Back.’”  
  
“Are you kidding me?!” Kristina stared at her friend. “That’s a perfect song.” She started singing, “‘She looks like a model, except she has a little more ass.’ Perfect line right there.”  
  
Ignoring the previously made point, Felicity said, “I have nothing to say in my defense. I should have come clean earlier.”  
  
“Yes,” Kristina nodded. “You should have.” She made a majestic gesture. “But it’s okay. For the sake of friendship: I forgive you.” She giggled. “I think it’s a rule that you need to have a song that’s kind of embarrassing. When Marcus and I kissed for the first time in front of my apartment the dipshits from the first floor were listening to ‘Harlem Shake.’”  
  
Felicity chuckled, but Tina aimed a threatening index finger at her, “And that’s still better than ‘Diamonds.’”  
  
“Yes,” Felicity agreed dutifully.  
  
Kristina leaned her head back. “When I think of Tak I always think of ‘Single Ladies’ and how he forced us to learn that stupid dance.”  
  
The girls giggled. Sobering up, Felicity looked at her friend challengingly. “I still know the steps.”  
  
Kristina stared at her for a moment before pushing off the ground. “I want proof.” She held her glass out. “And more Merlot.”  
  
Felicity grinned. “Not a problem.”  
  
_____________________________________________  
  
  
His green suit was safely stored in a gym bag in the back of his car for Diggle to pick up. It would be secure in the Foundry soon, nobody would notice. Sadly, the same couldn’t be said about the bruise on Oliver’s cheekbone. It was bad and hard to miss. Checking his reflection in the mirror of the restroom, Oliver saw the deep red spot shining back at him. He had made it quick and the party was in full swing, making it seem as if nobody had missed him. That had gone according to plan. Sadly, the fight hadn’t. And now Oliver needed to come up with an excuse for the bruise.  
  
His mind was empty. Nothing that was remotely believable came to him.  
  
Suddenly he heard steps coming toward the restroom. Strangely, Oliver’s first instinct was to hide. He entered the nearest stall and locked it.  
  
The door creaked as it was opened. A male voice Oliver knew but couldn’t put a face to hit his ears. “You can say what you want about Queen, but he knows how to throw a party. This night’s epic.”  
  
Oliver couldn’t help but think that this dude – whoever he was – apparently hadn’t been to many parties, because this night wasn’t all _that_.  
  
Another male voice Oliver didn’t recognize answered, “Yeah. I expected the worst. Since he came back he’s pretty lame. All married and boring.”  
  
The sound of a zipper being pulled down could be heard. “It’s his bitch’s fault. She’s fucking uptight.”  
  
“But she cleans up nice.” Another zipper was opened. The sound of men peeing while standing followed. “She should lose the glasses. The geek-look is such a turn-off.”  
  
Oliver didn’t notice that his hands were clenching, forming tightly closed fists, while he stood there in the bathroom stall listening to those two guys digging their own graves.  
  
The second guy was still talking, “I could work with the ponytail, though. Good thing to hold on to. I mean, those lips were made for blowjobs.”  
  
“It’s definitely the only thing she’s good for. Stupid whore.”  
  
In his anger Oliver was shaking. He hated the words hitting his ears. He hated these guys talking like that about Felicity, about the woman he loved. It tore at his insides, it made him feel sick. The sickness was increased by the familiarity of what he was hearing: the degrading comments, the objectifying, the reckless chasing of pleasure. It sounded like a recording from his past. The way those two fuckers out there acted was like a merciless mirror unsparingly showing Oliver his old self.  
  
This whole evening had been filled with flashbacks of Ollie Queen, of a guy who had never been above rating a girl’s looks, who had seen girls mostly as means to get his own pleasure. He had been like that, he had talked like that, he had treated many, many women badly. He regretted it, was ashamed of his behavior, of the way he had looked down on people, not just, but especially, females. What those guys were doing to Felicity, Ollie Queen had done it to uncounted girls. In fact, Ollie Queen had done it to Felicity, too. His thoughts had been in the gutter the night he had met Felicity in Vegas. Ollie Queen had noticed Felicity’s lips and had… come to a similar conclusions as the asshole out there. It was painful to be reminded of that, of what he had been. Forcing himself to remember that he wasn’t like that anymore, that he had moved on to become a better person, a better man, Oliver tried to get a grip on himself.  
  
A chuckle cut through Oliver’s thoughts. “You’re just mad your dad ripped you a new one after ending the contract with her company, Benson.”  
  
The name hit home within Oliver. Suddenly there was a face to the name—a face that brought him all the way back to high school: Benson Greyson. Why had he even invited that asshole to Tommy’s party? The guy had been such an ass. He was probably still mad Oliver had been voted prom king over him.  
  
“It was a perfectly reasonable decision back then,” Greyson defended.  
  
“Your dad disagreed.”  
  
The silence that followed was more than enough confirmation. A zipper being pulled up sounded through the tiled room. “Whatever,” the yet unnamed guy said, “I definitely wouldn’t turn down taking Queen’s bitch for a ride. She’d probably be up for it. I mean she screwed him that first night.”  
  
“God,” Greyson grunted while another zipper was closed, “forget her. She’s not worth the effort.” A sigh followed. “I wish we hadn’t left the strip joint so quickly. I’m in the mood for a second go in the backroom on Queen’s dime.”  
  
Following an inner urge that was neither smart nor reasonable, Oliver unlocked the bathroom stall. Stepping outside, he blocked the way of the two men who were on their way to the exit. They had the decency to look shocked. It was shock at seeing him, but that was all they were shocked about: him hearing. In their faces Oliver didn’t find the slightest indication that they regretted their words, that they were sorry. Oh, he would make sure they were sorry. Very sorry.  
  
He didn’t recognize the other guy who fantasized about Oliver’s wife and her lips, but he recognized his smug smile as amused condescension. “What you gonna do, Queen? Defend your woman’s honor? Well, you’re outnumbered.”  
  
Felicity would chide him for this, she’d call it stupid and macho and then some pun involving testosterone, but he was perfectly okay with taking that lecture because he would so enjoy this. His restraint was normally impeccable, but he chose to let it waver. The deliberateness of it was important, he wasn’t losing his grip. He was making a choice, one that he could stand by and live with. Oliver managed to keep his face even, he nodded. “That’s true.”  
  
The two guys opposite him shared a quick glance. Greyson was the first one to throw a punch.  
  
Oliver didn’t react, letting the bad blow connect with his lips. That would do, he decided, it was enough to explain the bruise he had taken from confronting six guys. He moved quickly and calculatingly. Two hits would have been enough to take them out, but Oliver didn’t feel like revealing his skills to those two—because it gave him the chance to hit them more often. He punched Benson’s eye perfectly and broke the nose of the other guy for good measure only to add perfectly placed punches to Greyson’s gut and the other guy’s kidneys. Thirty seconds after Oliver had left the bathroom stall, two trust fund babies stood doubled over, bleeding on the white tiles.  
  
Feeling like there was nothing left to say, Oliver turned around and exited the restroom.  
  
Loud music greeted him, and he was warped back ten years. The first drunken nights had taken place here; this had been the origin of a long string of debaucheries, this bar called Melandi whose owner deliberately never asked for IDs, only for cash. Everybody able to pay was welcome—which meant that Tommy Merlyn and Ollie Queen had been more than welcome. It had seemed fitting to party here and not at Verdant. But as Oliver pushed his way toward the counter where Tommy sat talking to the bartender, he couldn’t help but resent this venue that was a perfect stage for more unwelcome flashbacks.  
  
Sensing his approaching friend, Tommy turned toward him. Instantly, a frown showed on his face, darkening his features. “What happened to you?”  
  
“I might have gotten into a fight with Grayson and some other guy.” Oliver stopped next to his friend, finally noticing that his lower lip was not only throbbing but also bleeding. Tommy stared at him and Oliver could see the smile lurking beneath the surprise, so Oliver shrugged nonchalantly and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You wanted one last epic night.”  
  
“QUEEN!” The angry shout came from behind him. In annoyance, Oliver closed his eyes and pressed his lips together.  
  
“Wow.” A smirk appeared on Tommy’s face, glancing past Oliver to where the restrooms were. “I feel oddly proud that this is a ‘you should see the other _guys’_ -moment.” Tommy’s eyes snapped to his best friend. “You beat up Benson Greyson. I always hated that guy. I was so surprised you invited him. And Carter Bowen.”  
  
“I invited Carter Bowen?” _No,_ Oliver realized, _I didn’t._  
  
“You gave Carter Bowen a split eyebrow, buddy.” Tommy grinned. “All is right in this world. I also feel like this is the right moment to head toward the exit, because Laurel will kill me if I get into a fight.” Practically jumping up from his barstool, Tommy reached for his friend’s arm and pulled him along.  
  
Oliver followed Tommy, who pushed his way toward the exit. “Yeah, bailing you out wouldn’t exactly lift her reputation as a lawyer.”  
  
“Ah, screw that,” the bachelor dismissed. “But if I sport a bruise on our wedding day, she’ll throw a fit. I can already hear her complain about how my best man’ll look on all the photos.”  
  
Oliver felt the commotion behind him as Greyson and Bowen followed them, shoving people out of the way. He hadn’t expected either man to come for a second round. Fresh air greeted groom and best man as they stepped into the cloudless night of late Californian spring. They had barely reached the sidewalk when the other two caught up with them.  
  
Rage twisted Carter Bowen’s face as he roared. “You fucker! You broke my nose!”  
  
Oliver had enough. “Yeah.” He confirmed and shot around with the intention of knocking the lights out of the guy who had gotten a perfect score on his SATs, but stopped as he saw that Greyson hadn’t come to team up with Bowen against him. Benson Greyson was holding his friend back, trying to get him to back up. Loosening his fist, Oliver looked at the man struggling against his friend and told him, “You had it coming.”  
  
“Look who’s talking!” Bowen spat.  
  
“Carter, man, calm down,” Greyson urged and pulled at the other man.  
  
“Okay, this was nice,” Tommy stated, “but I’m officially over epic partying.”  
  
“Me, too. Let’s call it a night.” Oliver motioned across the street where John Diggle stood next to the Bentley. He had probably come to get the gym bag with the green suit, but in Oliver’s eyes that was perfect timing.  
  
“Yeah,” Tommy said. “Let’s.”  
  
________________________________________________  
  
  
Fighting six men in a dirty warehouse had been the only part of his night that had made sense. It had been the only part of his night when he had known what he was doing, when he had felt in charge, collected, and not like he was faking.  
  
He had pretended for his longest friend, who had seemed pleased when Oliver and Diggle had dropped him off at home—that probably meant all of this had been at least worth it. That was something. But it was also something Oliver would never repeat.  
  
It was a promise he made, riding up the elevator to the fourteenth floor and his apartment. Exhaustion tore at him and all he wanted to do was climb into bed with Felicity, steal a peck without waking her, and sleep five hours of undisturbed sleep. The feeling in his stomach and the pling of the elevator told him that he had reached his destination. The door opened and revealed Ted Clooney (former Swat-member, left the police-force because private companies paid better, on Diggle’s list for constantly questioning authority, would probably be fired soon, not in any way related to George) standing right in front of it in the hall. Seeing the man who paid better than most private companies did, Clooney instantly took a step backward. “Mr. Queen.”  
  
“Mr. Clo—” The noise coming from his right kept Oliver from finishing his greeting. Steeping out of the cabin, he looked toward the door of his apartment.  
  
“Miss Miles is visiting.”  
  
Oliver looked at the security guard, who tried to keep any annoyance off his face. He failed. Oliver nodded, “I take it, they’ve been at it for some time.”  
  
“One hour, sir.” The way Clooney answered added an unspoken ‘I’m not paid enough for this’ to his words. (It was a good thing that soon Oliver wouldn’t have to pay this guy anything anymore.)  
  
The noise coming from his apartment faded and Oliver sighed. So much for getting into bed instantly. “Okay.” He said casually. “Goodnight, Mr. Clooney.”  
  
“Sir.”  
  
Oliver had just slid his key into the lock when the music started again. It was loud through the closed door—and worse when he opened it. Light crept into the hall from the main room. It flickered in the tell-tale way of a television, the cold illumination of high-end technology. Placing his keys onto the cabinet, Oliver walked toward the main room.  
  
That was the moment the singing started. _“I made it through the wilderness. Somehow I made it through-hou-ough.”_  
  
Leaning against the doorframe, Oliver took in the scene in front of him: the two women standing in front of the TV, watching the screen where the words were scrolling over the bottom of the display, turning red as it was time to say… sing them. Felicity had a microphone in her hand that was connected to… some black box, whatever technological marvel that was.  
  
_“Didn’t know how lost I was until I found you-hou!”_  
  
Wow. Felicity Queen could do many things. Singing wasn’t one of them. This was awful, but Oliver couldn’t help but smile. He had never seen her like this, this… carefree, acting stupid, goofing around with her best who was standing next to her, punctuating Felicity’s singing with broad gestures.  
  
_“I was beat, incomplete. I’ve been had. I’ve been sad and bluuuue, but you made me feel, yeah, you ma-haha-de feel, shiny and neeeeeeeew!”_  
  
That woman couldn’t hold a note if her life depended on it. Kristina was still wildly flailing her arms and now the brunette joined in for the chorus. Kristina’s voice was pretty nice actually, but the friends obviously put intensity – and volume – before pitch.  
  
_“Like a virgin! Touch for the very first time, like a vi-hihir-gin, when your heart beats next to mine.”_  
  
Kristina took over the microphone and Felicity danced along. _“Gonna give you all my love boy, my fear is fading fa-aaha-st. Been saving it all for you, ‘cause only love can la-hahast. You’re so fine and you’re mine. Make me strong, yeah, you make me boooold. Oh, your love thawed out, yeah, your love thawed o-ohou-t, what was scared and coooooold. Like a virgin. Hee!”_  
  
The excited “hee” did it.  
  
Oliver laughed.  
  
It was a laugh of utter joy. It came from deep within him, the most honest and delighted laugh he could remember in the last five years. His eyes shone with happiness as both females shot around to face him and Madonna continued singing without the assistance of Felicity Queen and Kristina Miles. Fondly, he looked at the two women.  
  
“Hubby!” Kristina threw her arms up in a gesture of victory. “Awesome! We need a male voice! Uh. Uh! UH!” She beamed at Felicity, “‘Time of my life.’ Perfect song!” She turned back to Oliver. “Dirty Dancing, Hubby. I know you can do the dirty dancing between the sheets, bu—” She broke off mid-sentences and squinted her eyes at Oliver. “Is that a bruise? Is that dried blood? What happened to your face?”  
  
“I got into a fight at a bar.”  
  
Hearing that, Felicity narrowed her eyes at him and Oliver knew she wondered whether that was the truth or a lie for the benefit of her best friend.  
  
“Wow.” Kristina blinked. “Seriously?” She reached for the remote and turned the TV down. “You got into a bar fight. People really do that?” Not waiting for an answer she asked another question, “Who did you fight?”  
  
“Benson Greyson and Carter Bowen.”  
  
“OH, I hate Greyson!” Felicity stated at the same time that Kristina exclaimed, “Bowen is such a dick-wad.”  
  
The girls look at each other for a second before breaking into girlish giggles. They swayed where they stood, their faces flushed, their hair wild, their make-up a little smeared, but they were full of drunken excitement.  
  
“You know,” Felicity said, “as far as I know Carter Bowen got accepted at Harvard _and_ Princeton!”  
  
“Who cares? That guy can’t find a woman’s clitoris with a map!”  
  
“Okay!” Oliver rushed out as the females broke into another fit of laughter. “How about we call this a night?”  
  
Felicity sobered up as she heard that question and turned to him. “Oliver,” she said earnestly, her voice fuzzy, the red wine weighing down her tongue, “you’re my husband. I don’t tell you enough, but it’s the truth and I like that!”  
  
Biting back a laugh, Oliver nodded. “Thank you for telling me.”

“You’re welcome! We’re rocking the hell out of that contract. Making legal stuff sexy and such.” She stumbled to him and threw her arms around his shoulders, “Winning at marriage, you and me!”  
  
Honestly, Oliver didn’t have the slightest idea what was going on here, but he knew that Kristina’s next statement knocked all air out of him, “Felicity told me your secret, by the way.”  
  
The blood freezing in his veins, the lightness that had taken residency within him in the last five minutes rushed out of him. His posture stiffened as Felicity clung to him. “What?” he pressed out.  
  
“Yes,” Felicity hurried to say. “I had to come clean, about our song being a Rihanna-song.”  
  
His heart, which had felt crushed in his chest, started beating again. “Oh,” he managed, “that.”  
  
“Yes, _that_.” Kristina looked absolutely serious, “I forgive you.” Another thought entered her mind and she looked around the room, “What time is it?”  
  
“Around three,” Oliver answered.  
  
“Oh.” Kristina looked a little sheepish. “That leaves me two hours before I have to get up and take Marcus to the airport.” The girls’ eyes met—another round of drunken laughter followed. “I guess I’ll have to call a taxi.”  
  
“Don’t worry.” Oliver offered, “I can have one of our security guys take him to the airport.”  
  
“Are you crazy? I cannot _not_ go. If you can party, you can work—that’s what my nana used to say. I won’t stand Marcus up. I mean,” Kristina thought for a second before gesturing at Oliver, “he’s my _you_!”  
  
“Aww!” Felicity gushed. “Really?”  
  
The girls hugged in happy excitement. Oliver bit back a smile, watching them. He had made it through the wilderness to end up here. Seemed kind of perfect to him.


	38. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wonderful, wonderful people! After the previous chapter I was fully prepared for comments involving the phrase “filler.” But… nothing! Instead, you sent perfect comments my way, mentioning the emotional revelations beneath drunken musings and bathroom-fights—and now I don’t even know what I was thinking when I should have known how amazing you are. I’m delighted that the last chapter made sense to you and that you enjoyed it. You are everything and I thank you!
> 
> As you might have guessed, **Albiona** ’s still with me. She’s amazing like that—dealing with my excessively forceful writing. I’ll work on that from here on out. ;)
> 
> Okay, I hope you’ll enjoy this next chapter that’s finally dealing with the elephant in the room—while involving a monkey. Happy reading and much love, Jules.

**April 21 st, 2013  
  
**Oliver Queen slept until ten in the morning. It had only been five hours, but waking up so late felt strange despite that. Felicity was still sleeping deeply next to him. Rolling to his side, he let his eyes travel over her and took her in: her relaxed face, her blonde hair falling over her naked shoulder, her even breathing. He smiled. He knew he would never get tired of watching her, of memorizing every detail of her beautiful face, of the way his heart swelled when he looked at her.  
  
Last night he had seen a new side of her. A goofy, giggling, girly side that just let loose. He knew that the three bottles of red wine still standing on their coffee table were the reasons for it, but Oliver had sensed last night that Felicity’d needed this senseless evening of drinking, singing horribly, and laughing a lot. Felicity had blown off steam last night and he, of all people, could relate to that need.  
  
The bruise on his cheekbone and his split lip were more than enough proof.  
  
Felicity would probably have to face a raging headache. The thought had barely entered his mind when the doorbell rang. The sound caused Oliver to jump out of their bed. He had to get to the door quickly and keep whoever was daring to ring their doorbell at ten on a Sunday morning from ringing it again and possibly waking Felicity. Grabbing a white t-shirt draped over the chair in the corner, Oliver left the bedroom and carefully closed the door. He put the shirt on rushing in his feet bare and black briefs. Forcefully, he opened the door. “What?” he snapped with a sleep-coated voice. **  
  
** He was faced with Merdad Ükül (failed his aptitude test for the SCPD due to exam nerves, yearly contestant in the Iron Man, placed tenth last year, father of two boys), looking apologetic. “I am sorry, Mr. Queen, I already sent Mr. Kentwood away three times. He insists that he needs to speak with you.”  
  
Ükül stepped to the side, revealing a much smaller, much older man. Oliver didn’t have a mental file for the grey-haired senior in the woolen sweater-vest, but he knew he was renting an apartment on the thirteenth floor. “Mr. Queen,” the man said in a slightly nasal voice, “I must complain about the proceedings of last night.” **  
  
** “You must?” Oliver checked. **  
  
** “What transpired last night is not acceptable. The noise until the wee hours of the morning. It was dreadful and inconsiderate. I am contemplating reducing my rent due to the uncalled for disturbance.”  
  
Oliver didn’t care how much rent this man paid or didn’t pay. He also didn’t care for his attitude. “Why didn’t you just complain last night? Or, better, ask my wife to keep it down? I’m sure she would have if she had known she was bothering you.” **  
  
** Mr. Kentwood, Oliver couldn’t remember his first name, hesitated for a second before he said, “Not making such an infernal ruckus in the middle of the night should be common sense and nothing that one would have to specifically ask for.” **  
  
** “It was one night,” Oliver felt like putting the whole thing into perspective. “I think you will survive. I also think there’s absolutely no need to reduce rent. But feel free to file a complaint with the house committee.” A meeting Oliver didn’t plan on attending, ever.  
  
“Oh, I will, Mr. Queen. And I have another thing I would like to bring to your attention.” Taking Oliver’s raised eyebrow as an unspoken invitation to go on, he added, “My toilet is clogged.” **  
  
** “And you’re telling me this because….” **  
  
** “Because you are the owner of this building.” **  
  
** Oh. Right. Oliver exhaled. “Of course, Mr. Kentwood. I’ll send somebody over to fix it. Anything else?”  
  
“No.” Mr. Kentwood said, clearly not impressed with him. “That will be all.”  
  
“Good. Have a nice Sunday.” Not waiting for the other man to answer, Oliver closed to the door. Great. Now he had to call whichever manager was on call this weekend. Who knew appropriate security measures were be such a hassle? **  
  
  
  
April 24 th, 2013  
  
**Felicity had come up with a pun revolving around their need for out-of-the-box-thinking two weeks ago. She had kept from letting it slip since then. That wasn’t exactly tragic since it wasn’t exactly a very good pun, but the main reason for not making it wasn’t the level of wit but the fact that the lame comment would most definitely not be appreciated.  
  
Oliver wasn’t in the mood to joke about the two boxes John had found in the warehouse. It had been the only thing stored at the address that had been the only thing saved in the folder labeled “Undertaking,” which they had copied from Merlyn Global’s mainframe. **  
  
** Calling them boxes didn’t exactly fit, but Felicity liked the simplicity of that description. John’s pictures had showed two huge crates made of light wood with the Unidac logo sprayed in black paint. **  
  
** That had thrown Felicity for a loop. Six months ago she had won a bidding war over that company. She remembered it perfectly, it was a very memorable night that also included getting shot at, being threatened, witnessing one man crashing through a window, and another man falling out of a window into his death, oh, and, yeah, realizing that her husband has a thing for green leather and pointy things.  
  
Even if she tried (which she didn’t) she wouldn’t forget that night, ever.  
  
The boxes had been empty. John had swiped samples from inside the boxes and they had run every test imaginable, finding nothing: no traces of explosives or chemicals of any kind. In their desperation, they had even checked for radiation—that test coming up negative had been a huge relief. **  
  
** The big nothing that came from the boxes fit perfectly with the big nothing Felicity had dug up regarding Unidac. All evidence she could find told her that Unidac was a company specializing on research methods to generate new forms of green energy. She found a scientific paper on the possibility of generating power using waterfalls and earthquakes. It was all very theoretical with highly doubtful calculations to quantify the energy generated by water crashing down a mountain and shaking tectonic plates. There also was some thought on turning landslides into an energy source. It was all wildly speculative and some math was borderline ridiculous, but that was to be expected from a research facility. It was this whole “think big and see what works to change the world” approach that scientists had to have. There was nothing, _nothing_ suspicious there—no matter how badly Oliver wanted it to be. It all made zero sense. **  
  
** And all of the above was why making a lame pun about their need for out-of-the-box-thinking was a bad idea. **  
  
** Even though, it was the utter truth. **  
  
** There was nothing _in_ the boxes, after all. **  
  
** God, she was so lame. And tired. Sighing, she took her glasses off to rub her eyes. The sound of metal hitting metal which had accompanied her digging through Unidac’s finances stopped. Her glasses still in hand, she looked up and was greeted with a normal Wednesday evening sight: both hands closed around a rod resting on one of the upper bars, Oliver hung from the salmon ladder, meeting her eyes. Seeing the unspoken question there, she said, “Nothing. Their finances are clean—and not clean in a way that screams too perfect, but clean in a way that is absolutely believable. I’m sorry, but I’ve tried everything. There’s nothing else I can do.” **  
  
** Oliver watched her thoughtfully before he nodded and yanked the rod off the bar. His feet hit the ground hard. The thud echoing through the room also got John’s attention. He had been checking their medical supplies to make sure nothing was missing or expired. Taking Oliver ending his workout as a signal, he walked over to Felicity’s desk. Her eyes were on her husband heading toward her with the air of a decision being made. **  
  
** “Then I guess it’s time that I do something,” Oliver stated calmly.  
  
Felicity tilted her head at him. “What does that mean?” **  
  
** “That means that I’ll go and check out Unidac. I need to see that research facility for myself.” **  
  
** Felicity dug her brain for a reason why it was a stupid idea. But all that came to her was her promise to trust his abilities. Felicity’s research had reached a dead end. He had given her time to do what she needed to do and now she needed to step back and let him take over. She nodded. “Let me pull up the building’s blueprints. I should be able to help you with their security. By which I mean cameras and alarms, not taking on security guards—” She stopped herself right there, keeping the next words from slipping past her lips. **  
  
** The fond smile she knew so well was on Oliver’s face. John, on the other hand, stayed serious. He walked past Felicity’s desk, his eyes set on Oliver. “You could also try your mother again.” **  
  
** “Diggle,” Oliver’s voice hardened instantly, “I told you: I don’t want to endanger her. If Merlyn finds out that she gave The Hood his name, he’s gonna come for her. My mother,” he stated in his end-of-discussion tone, “is our last resort. And we’re not there yet. First, we check out Unidac.” **  
  
** “Did it occur to you that we might be running out of time?” John asked. **  
  
** Oliver pressing his lips tightly together was the very opposite of answering a question, but it told both Felicity and John everything they needed to know: it had occurred to Oliver. But he needed to keep trying to leave his mother out of it. **  
  
** “Okay, man,” John conceded. “Unidac is most definitely worth checking out.” **  
  
** “I’ll do that tonight.” Oliver decided. “Can you get me the layout of the building?” **  
  
** “Sure.” Felicity slipped her glasses back onto her nose, brought her hands to her keyboard, but let her fingers hover above it. Looking up at the two men standing behind her desk, seeing that she had their full attention, she gave herself an inward push to tell them what she was been avoiding until now, when time had nearly run out. She stood so that they wouldn’t be towering over her as much and straightened her shoulders.  
  
“I have to tell you something. No, I have to inform you of something.” Suspicion took Oliver’s face while John looked unaffected. Felicity continued, “You will accept this information. I don’t want to hear any objections, any reason why this is a bad idea, why I should do it here in the Foundry with either of you. I don’t want to hear any judgment or doubtful comments. If you want to say anything you can choose from the following,” she accompanied her list of possible answers by ticking of her fingers, “‘That’s a great idea. Have fun.’ Or, ‘okay.’” She let her hand sink, “If neither of these options are acceptable, say nothing. Are those terms clear?”  
  
Hints of a smirk showed around John’s lips. “Yes, Mrs. Queen. All clear. Say your peace.”  
  
She straightened her back. “Starting tomorrow, I’ll be taking self-defense classes.”  
  
Oliver hated it, she could see it in the way his eyes darkened and his lips locked. **  
  
** “Okay, you gotta give us more than that.” John said and Felicity knew that he was voicing Oliver’s questions. “Tell us at least where you’re taking them and who’s your teacher.”  
  
Felicity longed to tell him that those were not the terms he had agreed to. Those sentences didn’t even come close to the three options she had given them. Only the look on Oliver’s face kept her from doing that. Instead, she did as John requested, “Jacob Weyman’s teaching classes at the RQM. I’m sponsoring them, for women in the Glades, and I want to participate, too.” **  
  
** Now, John nodded, “Felicity, that’s a great idea. Jacob’s a good choice.” **  
  
** Her eyes travelled to Oliver. He met her gaze and she swore if he chose the option of saying nothing, she would tell him something else. He exhaled sharply and said, “Okay.” **  
  
** It was all the acceptance she could hope for from her overprotective husband who hated the thought of her being anywhere near any fight or anything, really, that might require her to defend herself. “Good.” Felicity got back to her seat. “Now that that’s settled, I’ll pull up the blueprints so that you can break into a highly secured research facility with armed guards.” It just seemed like a good moment to put what he planned on doing and what she planned on doing into perspective. **  
  
** A huff was Oliver’s first reaction and if he actually planned on adding any more words he never got the chance to do so, because Felicity’s phone vibrated on the desk next to her keyboard. Thea’s face appeared on the display. It had been a week since her sister-in-law had called her (or answered any of Felicity’s calls for that matter) and Felicity hurried to pick up her cell. “Thea?” **  
  
** “No, hi.” A male voice hit her eyes and reflexively her eyes snapped to Oliver. “This is Roy. Thea’s… boyfriend.” **  
  
** “Roy,” Felicity said and saw Oliver tense up as he watched her intently, “why are you calling? Is Thea okay?”  
  
“No, she’s really not. She’s… high, like… on a bad trip. But if I take her to a hospital they’ll report her and that’s a clear violation of her parole. She’d go to jail and… she said you’re like a sister to her.”  
  
“She said that?” Felicity couldn’t help but smile. “That’s amazing.”  
  
“But kind of not the most important point I made,” Roy reminded calmly.  
  
He had a nice voice, Felicity thought, but quickly pulled herself together. “Right.” She got up and reached for her purse. “How bad is the bad trip?” The question Felicity asked without actually saying the words was: is Thea’s life in danger? It was also enough to make Oliver rush to the chair where he had discarded his flannel shirt. **  
  
** “I—” Roy didn’t get any further. He was cut off by Thea’s voice sounding in the background, loud, shrill, and very, very strong.  
  
That didn’t sound like a dying woman to Felicity. “Text me your address,” she ordered. “We’re on our way.” **  
  
** ___________________________________________  
  
  
The text wasn’t needed. Oliver knew exactly where Roy lived—where Thea had been living for ten days. It wasn’t too far away from the Foundry and Oliver had stopped by every day. Not to talk to Thea and probably say the wrong thing, but to check on things from a safe distance.  
  
With long, heavy strides Oliver walked up to the tiny building that seemed to be cowering under an overpass, past the few patches of green and foul-smelling trashcans that made up the front yard, and brought his fist to the door, rattling its hinges.  
  
“Please,” Felicity came to stand behind him and rested her hand on his back, “calm down a little. Don’t rip anybody’s head off.” **  
  
** Oliver’s only acknowledgement to that was quitting his pounding. The door opened. Not bothering with a greeting or basic politeness, Oliver pushed past Roy, who quickly moved out of the way. “Where’s Thea?”  
  
A sound that was part sob and part cry was his answer. Oliver saw his sister instantly—the place was tiny after all. It consisted of one room that was kitchen, bedroom, and living room combined, and yet was the exact opposite of Oliver’s own main room. Thea stood on something that could be couch or bed or both. Her hands were on top of her head as if she was trying to keep her brain in. Her voice was shaking and a little too loud when she informed the room, “The monkey lord is waiting for us all!” **  
  
** Oliver froze, his eyes glued to the scene in front of him. He felt Felicity and Roy behind him, squeezed together in what could be described the hall, but what was really nothing more than the square meter directly behind the door. Oliver couldn’t exactly say what he had expected, but this was… worse. He didn’t have a proper adjective to sum up the emotional cocktail swirling inside him that was part worry, part fear, part anger, part utter disbelief. Ollie Queen had been there when Tommy Merlyn had been tripping on mushrooms – that had been a thing for a while, taking drugs that were considered “natural”, but people had quickly moved on to coke, because it was just more of a party – and the ‘shrooms had been bad enough for Oliver to stick to the alcohol. But this was different from Tommy looking at pretty colors, only to then take offense in the way the yellow blinded him. This was… _worse_. **  
  
** Suddenly, Thea jumped off the couch. Her feet hit the ground with more force than should be possible considering how tiny she was. Her hands flew up in the air, leaving her hair tousled, giving her a strangely fitting disheveled look that matched her jacket sliding down her right shoulder. “ _Behold_ the force of the monkey!” **  
  
** “Wow.” Felicity’s stunned voice ripped Oliver out of his momentary shock. “I make it a point to never judge people’s beliefs, but that’s ridiculous.” **  
  
** Ignoring that statement – because Felicity would never learn that sarcasm mostly didn’t do anything to improve a situation – Oliver slowly neared his sister, treading as if he were faced with a wild animal. “Thea?” he said gently. **  
  
** She didn’t react but stared ahead. Her eyes were glued to a clock hanging on the wall, Oliver realized, an old clock whose hands were moving above the faded drawing of Curious George. “Thea?” he repeated softly, but his sister still didn’t seem to hear him. Instead, her eyes jumped away from the clock as if she was following something moving over the wall opposite her making her to turn around and face him.  
  
Black greeted him when their eyes met. Her pupils were so huge that barely any green was left. She looked through Oliver and clearly wasn’t addressing him when she said, “I’m sorry.”  
  
What she was apologizing for, Oliver didn’t know. But he saw tears collect in her eyes, he saw indescribable sadness reflected on her features, shifted by her drugged-up state. Thea looked so fragile, so tiny, even smaller than she was. She looked lost, helpless, and alone. To Oliver, it was a scary sight. This small girl opposite him scared him, this surreal situation frightened him, because this was nothing he could fix with a well-placed hit. He didn’t know how to handle this. **  
  
** But he felt it in his gut: he had to do something. He dared to take another step toward her. “Thea?” **  
  
** A loud scream. She jumped back on the couch/bed, cowering in the corner with her knees pulled up to her chest. **  
  
** Oliver glanced at Felicity, who looked shaken and uneasy. She met his eyes and he could see her back straighten instantly. She had taken one step toward Thea when Oliver stopped her with a shake of his head. He couldn’t let her do this for him, he wouldn’t. Felicity had taken care of Thea time and time again, had cared for her when it should have been him. It was time to stop being a coward. **  
  
** Slowly, he took the two remaining steps separating him from his baby sister. Bending his knees slightly, bringing his shoulders forward, he tried to make himself smaller, less imposing. “Thea,” he whispered. “Thea.” Not getting a reaction, he sank down on his knees in front of the couch. Tentatively, he brought his hand up, reaching for her arms she had brought around her pulled up knees and said, “Speedy.”  
  
It took a heartbeat, but then she moved her eyes toward him while the rest of her body stayed immobile. Oliver tried a small smile he hoped was friendly despite knowing it was forced. “Speedy, hey.” He hadn’t used the nickname since he had returned home. It hadn’t seemed fitting to address Thea this way, with the term of endearment created for a young girl chasing after her big brother. The name hinted at a connection that hadn’t been there since he came back, no matter how much either of them had tried. But the fact that she reacted to it now gave him hope.  
  
“It’s me. Ollie,” he informed her, using her nickname for him deliberately, and closed his hand around her left wrist. “I’m here. Nothing’s going to happen to you.” Gently, he tugged and she gave in, making it possible for him to bring his fingers to her pulse point. “There’s nothing here to hurt you.” Her pulse was fast but nowhere near heart-attack speed. That was a relief. **  
  
** He glanced back at Felicity and nodded, silently telling her that everything was okay—as okay as it could be in this situation. His eyes flickered to Roy, and now it was Felicity nodding, accepting his silent request. She turned to the kid and asked, “What happened?” **  
  
** “I don’t know?” Roy’s answer sounded like a question. **  
  
** Oliver forced his fingers not to tighten around his sister’s wrist. How could he not know? How was that possible? **  
  
** Roy spared him from having to ask by continuing, “She left this morning for her community service. Everything was fine. I saw her for lunch, she was upset then. Said something about her stepdad leaving her mom. And when I picked her up from work she was… off. I asked her what she took and she said nothing.” **  
  
** “Yeah,” Felicity stated, “obviously.” **  
  
** “I got her home. I thought it would be… better to be in a familiar environment. But it only got worse.”  
  
Oliver noticed the use of the word _home_. It sounded wrong in his ears that Thea’s home was supposed to be here. The wrongness wasn’t caused by this place being a dump underneath an overpass in the Glades that felt overcrowded with four people in it. Location, size, and lacking housekeeping might drive the main point home (pun not intended) even more, though. The problem was, if this really was Thea’s home, she had found herself a place that wasn’t anything like Queen Mansion, a place that drew a clear line between then and now. She had not only moved out but away from their family—away from him.  
  
Maybe, this was what his moving in with Felicity had felt like to her. The thought hit him suddenly and unexpectedly. Again, he had to force himself not to physically react. **  
  
** “How long has she been like this?” Felicity asked. **  
  
** “An hour?” Roy answered. “I debated taking her to a hospital. She really lost it right before I called you. She’s calmer now.” **  
  
** Thea’s dilated eyes hadn’t wavered from her brother, she hadn’t even blinked. “Time’s ticking away,” she told him. “It’s so loud, the ticking. I wish I had more time.” **  
  
** “Speedy,” Oliver said, making sure his voice was quiet and gentle. “You have a lot of time left. So much.” **  
  
**

“But I can hear it passing. And we can all die at any second. Everything can always end. The end is everywhere. And that monkey’s staring at me.” Her voice grew louder, more panicked. “It’s mocking me!” Her eyes started jumping left and right again, Oliver could practically feel her tense again. “It knows that nobody wants to be with me!”  
  
“No, no, no,” Oliver objected. He heard a soft thud coming from behind him and knew that Roy had taken that damn clock off the wall. Oliver couldn’t help but approve of that. Heartily. “I’m here. So is Felicity.” He hesitated before adding, “So’s Roy. We all want to be here with you. For you.” **  
  
** “The ticking!” Thea yelled. “Make it STOP!” **  
  
** Oliver glanced at Roy and saw that he was busy taking the batteries out. The ticking, which had barely been audible to Oliver, vanished. **  
  
** “There,” Oliver said, “the ticking’s gone. Better?” **  
  
** Thea didn’t answer, but Oliver could practically see her digging her brain, contemplating his question. Knowing that he couldn’t let her get into her own head, he said, “Speedy, everything’s good. You’re… home.”  
  
“Home’s an illusion. Nobody’s ever truly home. And my home’s full of secrets.” She whispered the last word. “Big secret things that everybody’s keeping from me. But I know. I _know_!” She stared at Oliver with drugged-up eyes. Suddenly, she tore her hand away from his hold, jumped up, and stood on the couch. Her eyes were on Oliver, unblinkingly, Thea opened her mouth and—screamed. It was a yell of alarm, it was a panicked sound that felt like it could burst the windows and that lasted until she had to take a breath. Then she told him, “You’re dead!”  
  
“No, Speedy, I’m not, I—” He tried to reach for her, to calm her, but she slapped at his hand, squatting it away as if she was trying to get rid of a bee. **  
  
** “GO AWAY!” She yelled. “You’re not real. You’re DEAD! YOU DROWNED! YOU’RE NOT REAL! YOU’RE NOT REAL! YOU’RE NOT REAL! YOU’RE NOT REAL! YOU’RE NOT REAL!”  
  
The chant rang in his ears, it gutted him in the proverbial sense, but it also brought him off his knees and to his feet. Getting up from the ground, he reached for Thea. Ignoring her slaps against his arms with her flat hand, he grabbed her around the middle and tipped her weight into his shoulder. “Where’s the bathroom?” He had to speak over Thea’s constant screaming. **  
  
** Roy turned around and Oliver followed him, carrying Thea past the front door and the kitchen counter to a door Roy opened for him. The kid flattened himself against the wall so that Oliver could pass and enter the bathroom. A tiny bathtub was right opposite the door. He placed his sister in it—not as gently as he would have liked since Thea was fighting him. Reaching for the showerhead, Oliver turned the water on and aimed the cold spray directly at Thea.  
  
Her screaming changed frequency, from afraid to accusing. That was something Oliver could work with. The cold water drenched her, causing her brown locks to turn darker and stick to her head and her face, soaking her clothes and making them cling to her body. Quickly, Oliver turned the water off. He reached for Thea’s shoulders. “Speedy, I’m here, I’m real. I’m alive. Look at me!” His hand travelled down her arm, resting on her pulse point again. Faster, but still okay. “Speedy,” he urged when she didn’t follow his order. “Look at me!”  
  
She sat in the bathtub, drenched and shaking, but she had stopped screaming and now she looked at him with fearful eyes. **  
  
** He tied the encouraging half-smile again, because he was really winging it. “I’m fine. And I’m here. No matter where I live. No matter where you live. I’m always here for you.” **  
  
** She started shaking harder and just sat there. **  
  
** “Here.” Felicity said. Standing behind him, she held a sports bottle out to him. “Try this.” He turned to look at her and, seeing the question in his eyes, she explained, “Tea from herbs that counteract most poisons.” She swallowed and he could see how rattled she was, how worried and uneasy. “It can’t make things worse.” **  
  
** “No,” Oliver reached for the bottle and opened its lock with a pull. He brought it to his sister’s lips. Thea struggled against him, her feet kicked against the dull porcelain of the bathtub, her arm failed around and grabbed for whatever was in reach. Finding his cheek, her fingernails dug into his neck as his own hand closed around her chin to get the top of the bottle between her lips. He forced her to drink. **  
  
** “What’s that?” Roy asked. **  
  
** “Hangover cure,” Felicity stated. **  
  
** “Why’s it in a sports bottle?”  
  
“How else should I get it here? In a syringe?” **  
  
** Roy didn’t answer—how do you answer such a snappy counter-question? Oliver forced Thea to drink the whole contents of the bottle. When he let it drop she coughed and sputtered. Carefully, Oliver looked at her, he reached for her wrist again. Her pulse was still fast, but steady, and maybe not as fast as before. **  
  
** “Here.” This time it was Roy holding a towel out to him. **  
  
** Oliver took it with a nod and wrapped his sister in it. She had fallen quiet. Oliver didn’t know how to take this. She was still shaking and he feared that the things she had yelled out before were now silently tearing at her. **  
  
** “Speedy,” he said. “Talk to me.” She didn’t react in any way. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” He reached for her and lifted her out of the tub. He had just straightened up with her resting in his arms when her arms flew around him. She hugged him, clinging to him, her soaking clothes wetting his own, her whole body trembling. Sitting back down on the edge of the tub he cradled her to him. Suddenly he felt a warm wetness against his neck and he knew she was crying. “Hey,” he said, because nothing else came to him as he rubbed soothing circles over her back. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m fine. I love you. We’ll figure this out. Together.” **  
  
** She continued crying and he just held her. **  
  
** He held her like this for five hours – only interrupted by an intense struggle when Felicity insisted that they get Thea out of her wet clothes – until Thea finally fell asleep in his arms. It was two in the morning but it felt later than that to him, he felt the whole six months that this had been in the making. **  
  
** Thea slept on the couch that actually could be extracted and turned into a full bed, which left the other three people no other option but to stand the kitchen area. Leaning against the oven, Oliver wiped his face. He was exhausted. **  
  
** Awkwardly, Roy cleared his throat. “Do you want something to drink?” Avoiding their eyes, he opened the fridge. “Powerade? Or a soda?” **  
  
**

“A soda would be nice,” Felicity answered. She stood next to Oliver who just shook his head ‘No’.  
  
“Thank you.” Felicity took the offered can from Roy and placed her eyes on Oliver. “That move with the shower was really bold. You had me worried for a second. I mean, she was just talking about drowning and you drenched her. That could have triggered… whatever.” **  
  
** Hearing how quickly she talked, Oliver moved his arm up, around her shoulder, and pulled her to him. It was a try to console her as much as it was him. He knew she was shaken by the last six hours, by everything that had happened since they had entered this… house and he wanted to calm her by sending her wordless assurance. But he also needed her close to him. Her touch grounded him, it was giving him strength. He needed the physical connection to collect himself. He kissed Felicity’s forehead. “She’ll sleep it off,” he said gently, soothing himself as much as her. “Tomorrow we’ll decide what to do next.” Felicity nodded against his chest. **  
  
** Oliver looked at Roy, who busied himself with sipping blue Powerade. Following a sudden urge, Oliver brought his hand up. “Thank you. You didn’t have to call us, but I appreciate that you did.” **  
  
** Hesitating only the barest moment, Roy took the outstretched hand. “Of course.” Uneasily, he cleared his throat. “I guess you want to stay until Thea wakes up…. We’ll have to take turns sitting, though. I only have two chairs.” **  
  
** Oliver could only nod in acceptance. This would be an awfully long night.  
  
**April 25 th, 2013  
  
**Seeing Moira Queen sit on a wooden chair in a house that had about the same size as her office (Felicity wasn’t even sure if Moira’s office wasn’t bigger, actually) was a sight that would be burned into Felicity’s memory forever. **  
  
** Roy, on the other hand, looked ready to commit suicide. Felicity could relate: if Moira had come to Felicity’s (deceased) mother’s crappy apartment in Las Vegas, she would have died of embarrassment. Following an inner urge, she rested a hand on the boy’s arm, giving him an encouraging smile. **  
  
** Thea sat on the rumpled bed, a blanket draped over her, avoiding eye-contact with everyone. Her face looked ashen, her eyes were bloodshot, her whole body shook. She had spent the first half hour after waking throwing up, but she had regained her sense of reality, which she had lost after eating a flower called Angel’s Trumpet. That sounded like fake advertising to Felicity. There had been nothing angelic or heavenly about anything that had happened in the last sixteen hours.  
  
Thea informing the gathered group that her dealer had told her that the trip would be “memorable” hadn’t exactly improved the situation.  
  
Neither had Felicity’s comment that her dealer hadn’t exactly lied—it would be really hard to ever forget this. **  
  
** Felicity had been the one that insisted on calling Moira. Everybody else had been reluctant, but Felicity was sure of one thing: Moira being here was an unspoken message. Thea needed her mother to be here. So Felicity had ignored all objections. And she was sure it had been the right decision, for Thea as well as for Moira. **  
  
** The Queen matriarch looked at her daughter. “Thea, sweetheart, don’t you see that you can’t go on like this?” Her voice was gentle, worried. The lack of accusation in the older woman’s voice was a relief. **  
  
** “Walter called me,” Thea mumbled. “Why didn’t you?” **  
  
** “Because I wanted to tell you face to face, not over the phone.” Moira sighed. **  
  
** Oliver, who stood in between Moira and Thea, all of them opposite Felicity and Roy, asked. “Tell her what?”  
  
“Walter filed for divorce.” Moira’s voice sounded pressed, heavy with regret, making it clear that the decision hadn’t been mutual. “But, Thea, that doesn’t mean that he’s stopped loving _you_. He will still be a part of your life.” **  
  
** “He’s in New York!” Thea said. It was a sentence sounding like it should be yelled. Normally, it would be an accusing shout, but today Thea was too exhausted to raise her voice. “He hasn’t been around for months.” **  
  
** “That is my fault, Thea.” Moira shook her head, a sigh of sadness leaving her lips. “I know I haven’t been the best mother.” She swallowed heavily. “No,” she corrected herself, “I haven’t been a _good_ mother, but—” **  
  
** “Don’t.” The word leaving Thea’s lips was barely audible, it was nothing but a weak whisper, but it shut her mother up. “It’s not you. It’s not Walter. Those are excuses. It’s me.”  
  
“No, sweetheart, no.” Moira got up from her seat and rushed to sit next to her daughter (on the rumpled, extractable couch—that looked even weirder than the wooden chair to Felicity). She reached for Thea’s hand. “I have made mistakes. Huge mistakes and I—” **  
  
** “It’s _me_ ,” Thea repeated, fixing her eyes to the hands intertwined in her lap. “I made a promise to Roy. Not to take anything. I wanted to keep it.” She glanced up at her boyfriend for the barest moment before evading everybody’s eyes again. “Honestly, I didn’t want to take anything. But I needed to.” She swallowed heavily. “It’s me.” **  
  
** Felicity’s breath caught in her throat. Thea admitting that was both horrible and hopeful. Her heart was breaking for her sister-in-law, for a young woman who had crashed and burned last night after many, many months (probably years) of burning up. She was miserable. She was aching – body, heart, and soul – and the eight eyes dissecting her must be torture. But at the same time, this was a moment that could mark change. This could be the breakthrough Thea needed to pick up all the broken pieces and get herself back together. This could be the first step toward healing. There was hope here, so much hope. **  
  
** Bringing her hand up to brush Thea’s hair out of the way, Moira looked at her daughter. “Then let us help you, Thea. We are all here because we want to help you.” **  
  
** Slowly, Thea nodded. “That clinic—” She stopped and left the statement hanging. **  
  
** “We could just drive up there and have a look. If it doesn’t feel right to you, we’ll look for something else. But, Thea,” Moira said her daughter’s name in a way that demanded attention. Shyly, the girl glanced at her mother, “you need to get help. You cannot continue like this. I need to know that you’ll be okay.” **  
  
** Thea looked at her mother, her eyes watering. She nodded and added a quiet “okay,” her voice cracking. **  
  
** A moment of silence followed. It was loaded with the weight of everything they’d discussed, all it would mean for them in the future and all it changed about this moment. Thea was the one to end it. This time she sent a quick glance to her brother. “Thanks for coming last night.” **  
  
** Oliver pressed his lips together. Felicity could sense how uneasy he was, how uncomfortable his sister’s gratitude made him. Sometimes Felicity wanted to shake that man. He always seemed to believe he didn’t deserve the kindness he worked so hard for by being the best version of himself he could be. And since Felicity knew all this she wasn’t surprised when Oliver said, “I should have been there sooner. I thought it was better for you if I kept my distance, but I was wrong.” **  
  
** Moira put her arm around her daughter. “We can still make it right. As a family.” **  
  
  
  
April 26 th, 2013  
  
**Waterhouse Residential Treatment Center looked like a nice place to stay—if you didn’t know that it was a rehab. The center consisted of ten wooden houses placed around the main complex. Each house had a common area plus five rooms and formed one rehab group. Thea was in group seven with two male and three female clients—she was the youngest, but she didn’t seem to mind. The center was surrounded by woods, there was a lake nearby, and the next town was twenty miles away.  
  
Leaving Thea there had been good and bad. It had also been absolutely necessary, because Thea was struggling with serious symptoms of withdrawal. As soon as Thea had signed her agreement to being institutionalized, she had been taken away by a nurse. The people remaining – Oliver, Moira, Felicity, and Walter – had been dismissed with the information that they were expected to play part in Thea’s recovery and that they would be informed if and when they were needed. **  
  
** The three hour ride that had followed to get back to Queen Mansion had been awkward, to say the least. Walter being there for Thea was a good, important, but the tension between him and Moira was thick, of course. And Felicity wasn’t too happy with Walter either. It might be stupid, but she was a little miffed that Walter had called to tell Thea about the divorce and not her. She was also a little miffed that she somehow felt like siding with the clearly heartbroken Moira when Walter had been her mentor, her dignified cheerleader for five years. **  
  
** Felicity was glad when John pulled up to Queen Mansion and stopped the Bentley in front of the entrance. Felicity felt exhausted, but a glance at her cellphone told her that it was only five in the afternoon. She wished she could just head home with Oliver, force him to take the evening off to spend it being couple-y. But she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t take the evening off herself. She needed to drop by Firestorm and review the applications Yongtak had told her about on the phone. She wanted to find a spokes(wo)man / marketing chief / PR-person as quickly as possible because their software was done, and she wanted to put that out there. **  
  
** In her head she was already planning her next steps when Moira spoke up and sent all plans out of the window. “If you have the time, I’d appreciated it if you came in for a moment. I need to discuss something with you all.”  
  
Silence followed this request. Instinctively, Felicity’s eyes snapped to Oliver. Unsurprisingly, he pressed his lips together. He knew as well as Felicity that his mother’s statement could mean a lot of things. There were many things that Moira might want to discuss with them—and that truth left them uneasy. **  
  
** But denying Moira’s request was impossible: she was obviously uneasy herself and, knowing all the potential this conversation held, neither of them could bear not having it. “Of course,” Felicity hurried to answer as Oliver managed to signal his agreement with a nod. **  
  
** John had moved around the car and was opening the door. Moira got out first, followed by Walter. Oliver was next, but Felicity noticed the long, meaningful glance he shared with John. Those two and their silent communication. Oliver held his hand out to Felicity. He was helping her out of the car as much as he was needing the touch to steady himself, Felicity knew. The last two days had shaken him more than he’d like to admit. She could see it in his eyes, sense it in the way he so often sought physical contact and in the particularly upright way he held himself. Giving his hand a light squeeze, she tried to send him silent encouragement. **  
  
** Moira was already heading up the stairs to the front door when suddenly there was the tell-tale crunching of the perfectly white gravel covering the Queens’ driveway. A black car drove toward them. Felicity knew who it belonged to. **  
  
** The car had barely stopped moving when Detective Lance got out. His steps radiated confidence.  
  
“Detective, what is it? We’re having a very difficult day as it is,” Moira said in that superior dismissiveness she had perfected. Positioned two steps above Walter and four from where Oliver and Felicity stood next to each other, with John Diggle close by, she looked down at the detective as the undisputed monarch. **  
  
** “Well, it won’t get any easier, I’m afraid,” Lance answered while not sounding the slightest bit sorry. The way he stared at Felicity made it clear that he wasn’t addressing the other Mrs. Queen. “It’s very helpful that the paparazzi always know your whereabouts, Mrs. Queen. And you’re lucky I’m considerate enough to do this here, where they cannot take pictures.” **  
  
** “Do what?” Felicity asked.  
**  
** “This,” Lance stated and lifted his hand, holding handcuffs out. “Felicity Queen, I’m taking you in.” He reached for Felicity’s wrist, her hand slipped from Oliver’s as Lance pulled her arm back and locked the cuffs. **  
  
** All Felicity could come up with was a disbelieving, “What?!” **  
  
** “Are you out of your _mind_?” Oliver took a threatening step toward the detective, flexing his muscles, his face darkening. **  
  
** “Walter, do something!” Moira demanded, coming back down the stairs. **  
  
** Walter followed the order by asking a question. “On what grounds?” **  
  
** “Aiding and abetting the vigilante.” **  
  
** Felicity was at a loss for words and simply repeated the last one she had used, “What?!” **  
  
** “You’re not taking her anywhere.” Oliver was less speaking the words and more growling them.  
  
“Oh,” Lance raised his eyebrows at Oliver. “Believe me, I am.” He glanced at Felicity and continued, “Mrs. Queen, that makes you an accessory to obstruction of justice, aggravated assault, trespassing, and murder.”  
  
“NO!” Oliver’s shout was pure aggression. “You’re not taking Felicity!” His fist were clenched and his body was shaking, he was visibly restraining himself from reaching for Lance. He was struggling not to lash out, to keep it together, but his self-control was wavering more and more with each heavy breath he took. “Lance, is this your idea of getting revenge? You’re not taking my WIFE!”  
  
“Believe me, Queen,” Lance spat back, pulling Felicity with him toward the police car. “This has nothing to do with you. It’s not my fault that your wife’s nightly activities don’t exclusively involve you.”  
  
John stepped in front of Oliver. The supposed bodyguard reached for his supposed employer and nailed him down with an intense stare.  
  
“Oliver,” Felicity said, needing him to calm down. This wasn’t the right moment for an emotional explosion. Oliver Queen didn’t lose it like that, that was a reaction worthy of The Hood and that guy couldn’t make an appearance right now. **  
  
** Her voice cut all the fight from Oliver, the aggression leaking from him. “Felicity,” his voice held a desperation she had never heard before. “I’ll fix this.”  
  
“We’ll come with a lawyer.” Moira told Felicity as Lance put his hand on her head and directed her into the backseat of the car. “Don’t say anything before we’re there.” **  
  
** “Lance,” Oliver glared at the man, “you’re making a mistake.” Oliver eyes snapped to Felicity. “You’re arresting Felicity Queen. You’re out of your mind.” **  
  
** “Yeah, yeah,” Lance drawled. “You said that al—” The door slammed shut.


	39. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m thrilled that most of you enjoyed the bad trip ending in rehab (and a police car.) A lot of you used the word “intense” to describe the previous chapter (Albi said you would, she’s amazing like - and maybe owner of a crystal ball... but she only uses her powers for the greater good.)—and that’s a mark in my personal win-column, because intensity was what I aimed for. I’m glad that you felt and liked it. Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts with me. ❤
> 
>  **Albiona** is forever my rainbow-colored future-telling voice of reason. I adore her. (Thank you for always paying attention to detail. I agree: "Bible love quotes" were an improvement.)
> 
> I let you get to reading. I hope you enjoy this one. Even though I know to expect _words_ from you (Albi does, too, so there’s that…) and I’m fully prepared for it. Bring it on. ;-) Love, Jules

**April 26 th, 2013  
  
**Oliver had reminded her who she was.  
  
The way he’d phrased his last sentence had been a strategic move, Felicity was sure. Normally, he didn’t talk like that. It had been solely for her benefit. To borrow an expression Oliver used quite frequently: he needed her to get her head in the game, he needed her to focus and approach this like a business negotiation—which was something she could do. She had done it uncounted times. She was good at it. **  
  
** She was Felicity Queen. **  
  
** Sitting in the backseat of the police car, she tried to pull herself together, to get her invisible mask firmly in place. But that was difficult when the way her arms were pulled back and the way the metal of the cuffs cut into her skin constantly reminded her of the reality of this situation. A heavy silence filled the car. The amount of nothingness felt imposing. **  
  
** It was most likely deliberate.  
  
Detective Lance sat in the passenger’s seat, his partner Detective Hilton was driving. Both stared ahead, neither acknowledging her or each other.  
  
While Felicity longed for nothing more than to get out of this car and away from this situation, she also wished they’d never reach their destination. Damn it, she was struggling to get her Felicity Queen on, to get in the right headspace to act unaffected. Because how could she be calm about anything that was happening? Being arrested, being handcuffed (which she was _so_ not into), being taken in for questioning—that wasn’t easy to shake off.  
  
Instead, her very vivid imagination drew up pictures of what could come—and they all looked awful. She couldn’t rock an orange jumpsuit. Jumpsuits in general did her figure absolutely no favors. (She hadn’t been able to resist trying one on during her last shopping trip, because they were so fashionable at the moment, but she wasn’t tall enough to pull them off. If you weren’t a supermodel it was basically impossible to make them work). Plus: prison orange would really clash with her complexion. She also wasn’t very crafty. She couldn’t turn her toothbrush into a knife—which, movies had told her, was a basic skill needed in prison. With Thea finally agreeing to go to rehab and helping to arrange that to keep her busy, Felicity hadn’t even been to one self-defense class yet. That might have been helpful…. God, she realized, they would take away her phone. Her tablet. Her internet access. Horror scenarios played in her head, but despite all the things she made herself contemplate, it didn’t change one irrevocable fact.  
  
Revealing the true identity of The Hood wasn’t an option.  
  
The police radio unexpectedly came to life. A hollow, female voice and a lot of hissing cut into the dreadful quiet. Felicity flinched at the sudden sound without really registering what was said, snapping out of her thoughts. If the men in the front noticed her distressed reaction, they didn’t give any indication of it. Lance simply reached for the radio and answered with a sentence of number combinations that meant nothing to Felicity.  
  
It was this moment that Felicity realized she was falling for their trap, for their deliberate silence, for the old trick of letting her stew in her own worried thoughts, giving her time to get into her own head and panic thoroughly.  
A defiant form of anger flared up inside Felicity and she sat up a little straighter. They were trying to play her, get the little blonde worked up. But she had seen through better acts than this one. She could do this.  
  
She was fucking Felicity Queen.  
  
Bringing her chin up a little, she glanced out of the window and saw that they had reached the police precinct. To her surprise they didn’t stop right in front of it. Instead, Detective Hilton steered the car toward the back entrance. This seemed strange to Felicity. The thought of Quentin Lance missing the chance to parade her through the front door, showing her off handcuffed and guilty-looking, triggered Felicity’s suspicion.  
  
Detective Lance was the one to open her door. Reaching for her arm, he led Felicity into the precinct. She made sure that her head was held high, her back was straight, and her steps seemed self-assured as she let Lance direct her through the room, past officers in uniform sipping coffee, past desks filled with files and old-fashioned computer hardware, past people that might be suspects or victims and who were openly awed by what they saw. They were just passing a young guy sitting on a chair next to a desk when Lance’s hand reached out to snatch up his phone. “Hey!” the young man protested. Lance had kept him from taking a picture of Felicity. **  
  
** The detective was unfazed. “You’ll get it back when you leave.” He held the phone out to a random nearby officer who nodded consent. **  
  
** The suspicion within Felicity grew. **  
  
** Lance led her around a corner, down a hall, and into a tiny room—an interrogation room. The detective closed the door before he moved to unlock the handcuffs.  
  
“Are you sure you want to do that?” Felicity asked, turning her head slightly to the man behind her. “Apparently, you believe me to be a hardened criminal.” Poking the bear came naturally to Felicity Queen, who watched the man’s reaction carefully. **  
  
** But her quip didn’t rattle him. Instead, he gestured to a table with two chairs placed on opposite sides. She moved to the one facing the huge one-way mirror. “I take it you want me to sit here?”  
  
Again, Lance didn’t answer but simply sat down on the other chair with his back toward whoever was watching them from the adjoining room and placed a closed folder in front of him. A camera hung in the right top corner opposite Felicity and a TV stood on a moving table positioned next to the mirror.  
  
With a familiar feeling of a power-play, Felicity Queen took the seat designated for her. She crossed her right leg over her left and placed her hands in her lap. She looked at Detective Lance, waiting for his first move. **  
  
** It was an open attack. “How long have you been involved with the vigilante, Mrs. Queen?” **  
  
** Moira had advised her to wait for a lawyer and say nothing, but to Felicity that didn’t seem like the best thing to do. It seemed best to see what the man opposite her had. “I cannot answer that question, because I’m not involved with the vigilante.”  
  
“No?” Lance mocked. “He came to your rescue three times.”  
  
“Does that count as involvement?” Felicity frowned while doing a quick mental inventory of public and private Hood-knowledge. Only after that did she continue, “Didn’t he also save Laurel?”  
  
“Once.”  
  
Lance sounded defensive and Felicity chose not to comment any further—vocally. She only sent him a barely there smile, making a silent point. The detective’s lips pursed as if he tasted something sour. He stared at her for a second. Then he opened the folder and shuffled through assembled papers. “You’re good with computers, right?”  
  
“I cannot deny that.”  
  
“See, I got a whole mess of computer gobbedly gook that I don’t understand, but our tech-guys tell me that The Hood’s also good with computers. Or he knows somebody who is. Because somebody got into our computers and stole information. Like an autopsy report on a victim killed by Vertigo.” He looked at Felicity challengingly. “Now, what am I thinking?”  
  
Felicity Queen met his eyes. “I have no mind reading-powers, detective. But _I’m_ thinking that this sounds like you need to upgrade your firewall. My company’s working on a new security software you could really benefit from. I’ll contact the mayor about that.”  
  
Lance smiled humorlessly. “Thank you for letting me know you’re buddies with the mayor.”  
  
Seeing the way he shoved his chair back, Felicity wondered if she was pushing him too far. Maybe she needed to tone down the act of privileged superiority a little. But there was no way to half-ass through this; this was the worst time to get self-conscious about being bitchy. Strangely, she never had before. In the business world this wasn’t considered bad manners but strength and strategy. She forced these thoughts out of her head as Lance walked to the moving table and picked up a remote resting next to the TV.  
  
“Since you got it all figured out, maybe you can also explain this to me.” He took position next to the TV and pressed a button. Suddenly Felicity saw a leather clad figure hitting another man. The video was shaky, The Hood was shifting in and out of focus as whoever had recorded this struggled to follow his fast movements. But Felicity knew what was going on, recognized the surroundings, and remembered the circumstances perfectly: she saw The Hood attacking the hostage-taker at Big Belly Burger and she was one hundred percent sure that one of the teenagers in the booth had recorded this with his or her phone.  
  
Her heart started beating harder in her chest, but she forced herself to act calm, not to react as she saw The Hood reach toward his quiver, getting an arrow out, as she heard her own voice calling out, stopping the vigilante from ramming an arrow into his opponent’s neck. She watched the events that looked slightly different in her memory play out on the screen: she saw The Hood knock out the hostage-taker, saw herself rush to Brad, check his injuries, saw The Hood walk to her and heard him tell her to leave the knife where it was. She saw herself glance up at The Hood—and that was the moment Quentin Lance chose to stop the video, freezing the moment she had met Oliver’s eyes under his hood on the screen. Damn it. Damn it all to hell.  
  
“So, Mrs. Queen, do you still want to tell me that you’re not involved with The Hood?”  
  
Felicity’s heart was hammering in her chest, her stomach was suddenly tied into knots and she had to struggle not to tighten her hands in her lap, which were perfectly visible to Lance. Her mind was working overtime, trying to analyze the situation and realizing that, after how she acted before, falling quiet now was a bad idea.  
  
Giving it her all not to let her resolve waver, Felicity Queen met Detective Lance’s eyes. “I am not involved with The Hood.”  
  
“You told him to stop—and he did. That suggests a level of familiarity.”  
  
Felicity shrugged. “I’m often told that I have a very bossy tone.”  
  
“You bossed a very dangerous man around, Mrs. Queen.”  
  
“I didn’t know that keeping somebody from killing somebody was a crime.”  
  
“It isn’t. But obstruction of justice is.” Lance pointed at the TV he was still standing next to. “You’re looking up his hood.” That was an observation, it was followed by a statement filled with certainty. “You know who’s underneath that silly costume.”  
  
Felicity moved her eyes away from Lance and placed them onto the image frozen on the screen. “I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. “I don’t think the costume’s _that_ silly. At the very least, it shows off his nice ass.”  
  
“So, what?!” Lance mocked. “You’re admitting to looking at his ass but not in his eyes?”  
  
“As far as Tommy Merlyn told me, every girl in Starling City – plus a gay couple I’m friends with – is interested in his ass. If that’s a crime then, yes, I’m guilty. As is your daughter, as far as I heard.”  
  
“You leave Laurel out of this!” Lance threatened. It was the first time his uncaring shell had cracked. He marched to the table, placed both his hands on top, and leaned into Felicity’s space. “Is this some kind of joke to you? Being an accessory to murder?”  
  
“Believe me, detective,” Felicity said sincerely. “I find nothing happening here funny.”  
  
Lance stared at her for another couple of seconds before pushing away from the table. Reaching for the chair he had shoved back, he sat back down. Another moment of silence followed, and Felicity was perfectly fine with keeping her mouth shut now and waiting for the expensive lawyer to arrive with her family. But Lance filled the quiet, sounding thoughtful, he asked, “What does your _husband_ say about all of this? About your connection to The Hood. Does he know?”  
  
The way the detective stressed the word ‘husband’ made Felicity’s defenses flare up. “There is nothing to know.”  
  
“Well, at the very least, you’re checking out another man’s behind.”  
  
“I think my husband’s man enough to deal with that.”  
  
“Seriously?” Lance seemed astonished. “You don’t think he’d mind?”  
  
“I don’t.”  
  
“Because it’s his ass in those tight leather pants?”

“What?!” The shocked gasp left Felicity’s lips involuntarily. A cold sensation rushed down her spine but she fought against it. She forced herself to add a laugh, making Lance’s statement seem amusing. It was a faked laugh that might sound a bit too desperate, but it was all Felicity could come up with to play for time and give herself a moment to order her thoughts. “You’re joking, right?”  
  
“I am not. The vigilante showed up in Starling City around the same time your husband came back from the dead. He also was the first to ever see a hooded guy. Nobody knows what happened to him during the five years he was away.” **  
  
** “Because it’s nobody’s business what happened to him,” Felicity snapped, her coolness slipping. “None of that’s proof he runs around arrow-ing people—” She stopped talking right there, because she suddenly felt like she had managed to knock herself over the head with her own words. Suddenly, all the suspicions, all the little details she had noticed, clicked into place and she knew what was really going on here. **  
  
** It did nothing to ease her anger—much the opposite. **  
  
** The realization that Quentin Lance was really good had just hit Felicity when a commotion sounded from outside the door. In the midst of it, of course, was Oliver’s voice. “I demand to see my wife, right _now_!”  
  
Felicity was tempted to roll her eyes at his antics, but there was too much relief inside her. She was thankful for the distraction, because it caused Lance to finally take his eyes off her, turning toward the door that was forcefully opened. Oliver entered the room, followed by Moira and Walter. **  
  
** “I’m in the middle of an interrogation here!” Lance snapped.  
  
“Your interrogation is over,” Oliver shot back, aggression in his voice, and moved to stand next to Felicity.  
  
Moira fixated Lance, who was still sitting opposite Felicity, with a heated glance. “Detective Lance, I know you hate my family, but I had no idea you’d go as far as to arrest my daughter-in-law without any grounds whatsoever.”  
  
“Oh,” Lance said, “I have grounds.” He motioned toward the screen behind him and the still-frame displayed there.  
  
Felicity saw Oliver’s face tighten as he recognized the scene. She was aware that she knew Oliver better than anybody else: she had come to learn what even his tiniest gesture meant, she could look at him and get a sense of what he was thinking. Felicity knew all this, she kept it in mind, but she couldn’t help but feel that, right now, Oliver was awfully transparent. He was clearly shaken by what he saw on that screen, and she knew that Lance was watching him closely. This had gone far enough, Felicity decided. It was time to put an end to this charade.  
  
“No!” Felicity forced Lance to place his attention back to her. “You _don’t_. You have nothing. Which is why you haven’t arrested me.” Now the detective was being awfully transparent. “You never used the word arrest,” she told him, “you said you’d take me in. You didn’t read me my rights.” Felicity got up from her seat, angry at herself for not seeing it sooner, for falling for his trap and not being nearly as clever as she believed herself to be. “You just wanted to rattle me. That’s why you spared me the walk of shame through the front door. You don’t have any proof, you’re fishing!”  
  
“I know you know the vigilante. You know him _intimately_.” **  
  
** Taking a gesture out of Lance’s intimidation rule-book, Felicity placed her hands on the table and leaned toward the man. “Then _prove it_!”  
  
For another second they stared at each other. Felicity straightened up just as Lance’s cellphone rang. He glanced down at the display and instantly his eyes snapped to Oliver, who placed his hand onto the small of Felicity’s back. “I think we’re done here,” he stated.  
  
“Yes,” Moira agreed and led the way out of the crowded, tiny interrogation room. The door closed behind the Queen-Steele-family. Felicity reached for Oliver’s hand as they walked down the hall, Moira and Walter a few steps ahead of them. Feeling his bigger hand close around hers, Felicity noticed that her hands were ice-cold, frozen by shock.  
  
In silent assurance, Oliver gave a comforting squeeze and leaned to her. His lips brushed Felicity’s ear shell as he whispered, “You challenged Quentin Lance.”  
  
Her eyes snapped to him. “Is that judgment I’m hearing?”  
  
“Pride,” he corrected, but after few heartbeats he added, “And worry. A lot of worry.”  
  
___________________________________  
  
  
Going to the Foundry tonight wasn’t an option. At least not for Felicity, who probably wouldn’t appreciate going down the garbage slide with Oliver to evade all cameras and electronic keycard panels.  
  
Diggle had noticed the black car following them as soon as they had pulled away from the precinct. Merdad Ukül, who was in charge of the front desk tonight, had noticed the surveillance team getting ready outside the building for a stakeout five minutes after the Queens had entered their building. The police were watching them and the knowledge freaked Felicity out.  
  
In Oliver’s opinion, it was an example of her freaking out for the wrong reasons.  
  
Sitting on the couch in their main room, he watched Felicity pace in front of the TV while muttering, “He knows!”  
  
There it was: the main reason his wife was losing her cool. “Felicity—” Oliver started, but she didn’t want to hear him out. **  
  
** Instead, she acted as if he hadn’t spoken up and repeated, “He _knows_!” She stopped her pacing and threw her hands up. “Lance knows you’re The Hood. Or thinks he knows. Which is basically the same thing. That’s the whole reason he interrogated me. To scare me into giving you up.” She shook her head, angry. “He has another thing coming if he thinks that’ll ever happen. Because it won’t. Not _ever_.”  
  
“Felicity,” Oliver sighed, “don’t worry about it.”  
  
“Are you kidding me?!” She glared at him. “That’s a perfect reason to worry. You getting arrested for vigilantism and all that comes with it is perfectly legit worrying material.”  
  
“No,” Oliver objected calmly, leaning forward on the couch, resting his forearms on his knees, and setting his eyes on her, “the fact that Lance has a suspicion he can’t prove doesn’t matter. But the fact that he might have painted a bulls eye on your back does.”  
  
Despite everything that had happened between him and Quentin Lance, Oliver had always had utmost respect for the detective. He was a good man, a smart man, somebody who really cared. But what he had done today was careless. He might have managed to keep the whole thing under wraps until now, but it was only a matter of time ‘til things slipped out. The guy at the precinct trying to take a picture of Felicity was probably a guy to give some gossip blogger a little tip for a little cash. A policeman might spill the beans for a little bit more money. This was a disaster in the making and as soon as word got out, people would try to get to him, get to The Hood, through Felicity. People like the other archer.  
  
_That_ was a good reason to freak out.  
  
Quentin Lance’s suspicions weren’t. The fact that The Hood had called him while Oliver Queen was standing right in front of him had thrown the detective for a loop. Oliver had seen that. Diggle’s timing had been perfect. They had given Lance something new to chew on—that should distract him for a while.  
  
“I’m not a target,” Oliver stressed. “You are. He has evidence that you know the vigilante.”  
  
Felicity waved that comment away with a quick flick of her wrist. “That’s circumstantial.” **  
  
** “Oh, I didn’t know you were a lawyer, Mrs. Queen.” **  
  
** Felicity narrowed her eyes at him, but then she deflated a little. Her hands fell to her sides. “Lance said that keeping the vigilante from killing somebody suggests a level of familiarity. He kind of has a point—not that I’d ever tell him that, but….” The way she looked at Oliver told him that the next question had nothing to do with Lance. “Was I out of line asking you to stop?”  
  
“Felicity.” Shaking his head, he got up from the couch and moved to her. He reached for her left hand. “Of course not. You were right to stop me. You were right that he wasn’t a threat anymore. There was no need to go any further.”  
  
Sadly, she smiled at him, her right hand settling on his cheek. “I knew you were all anger and battle-adrenaline.”  
  
Oliver nodded hesitantly—that was the nice way to put it. Entering Big Belly Burger that night, he had been furious. The utter rage had shredded his self-restraint and all he had wanted to do was make this guy who was threatening his loved ones pay. And he knew Felicity knew—and he knew that she would never be comfortable with him hurting anybody in her name. That night and Felicity’s reaction to it had shown him that he needed to work on keeping a clear head. He couldn’t let his emotions take over like that anymore.  
  
He matched her sad smile as he said, “There’s a certain level of familiarity, after all.” Gently, he touched his lips to hers, closing his eyes to enjoy the softness of the touch, the certain level of familiarity that came with it and that made his heart beat a little quicker every time. He kept his face close to hers when their lips parted and he brushed his nose against hers tenderly. “If Lance comes after you again, I’ll turn myself in.”  
  
“What?!”  
  
Instantly, Felicity tried to break their touch, to step back and bring more space between them, but Oliver had anticipated it and held her close to him. “I will not let you take the fall for my wrong-doings.”  
  
“You didn’t do anything wrong.” The sentence surprised Oliver so much that his grip on her loosened. He stared at her in confusion while Felicity continued in a very matter-of-fact tone. “You’re sacrificing an awful lot for the people of this city. You’re making a difference. I will admit that your methods are a bit… unorthodox, but they’re efficient. You’re making this city a better place, a safer place, and I can’t see anything wrong with that. Plus, you’re a good husband and working on all our family stuff. So, if all of that combined doesn’t make you a hero, I don’t know what does.”  
  
His heart was racing in his chest in the most positive staccato, a happy tingle rushing through his chest and down his spine. He felt like he was floating for a second because all the sensations left him a little light-headed. He couldn’t believe she had said that, he couldn’t believe that she really meant it. But she did. He knew she did. All the joyous emotions caught his tongue and all he could do was look at her in happy awe.  
  
She smiled. Her hand still resting on his cheek added a little pressure. “I’m very serious.” She kissed him again and he returned it with everything he had. He pulled her to him, closed his arms around her, his hands trailing up and down her spine. He lost track of time as he lost himself in her, in feeling her close, in enjoying the way their tongues danced around each other and her fingers caressed his neck.  
  
His breathing was heavier, his lips were prickling when they finally left hers. He connected his blue eyes with hers, seeing the spark in them he had come to recognize so well. His arms stayed around her as he said, softly, “All I want to be is your husband. Because I love you.” He was rewarded with a smile that lit up her face; it made her even more beautiful and all he could do was look at her, burn that wonderful sight into his brain. Finally, he cleared his throat, willing all the emotions down. “And because I love you, I won’t let you go to jail for me.” The barest smirk ghosted around his lips as he added, “I couldn’t do that to you; they wouldn’t let you bring your tablet.”  
  
Amusement shone in her eyes, making them even more pretty. “Don’t worry, I got jail figured out. On the way to the precinct, I made plans to turn my toothbrush into a knife.”  
  
He chuckled, even though there was a part of him that knew this was nothing to joke about. It wasn’t a laughing matter. But this was what Felicity was best at: taking the edge out of the things that stung, adding a little light to the darkness. And since there was nothing they could do about Lance and the mess that came with him right now, Oliver wanted to do nothing more than adopt that habit of hers until there was something that could be done. His hands moved over her back. “Smarting thinking, very crafty.”  
  
“That’s me,” Felicity teased. “I have very skilled hands.”  
  
To emphasize her statement, she slipped her fingers underneath his shirt and let them trace his skin. He wasn’t surprised by her actions, he had seen the desire in her eyes, had recognized the way the normally pale blue turned darker, had noticed the way her eyelids dropped the tiniest bit. Locking his gaze on her, he watched her as her hands roamed his skin, as her fingertips danced toward his kidneys. They were harmless touches in harmless spots but they made Oliver shiver. The soft caresses alone were enjoyable, of course, but the feeling they brought with them strengthened his joy. Her touch told him of her love. It told him that if he ever dared to turn himself in, she’d rain hellfire on him. It told him she’d be there every time to stop him when he needed it. She would go as far as he would go and whatever they wanted to reach they could do it together. **  
  
** Her soft touches that came with such forceful emotions made him kiss her again. Closing his eyes, he pulled her to him, capturing her mouth with his. She moaned against his lips, deepening the kiss. His right hand left her cheek to pull out the elastic holding her ponytail, making her hair tumble around her face and over her shoulders. He loved running his hands through her hair, feeling the silky strands between his fingers. He loved tugging it gently so that she tilted her head back, exposing her throat to him so that he could nibble, kiss, and lick his way to her pulse point, only to blow on the wet trail he left behind. He loved seeing her eyes flutter shut at the sensation. He loved sucking on her earlobe and feeling the sigh leaving her lips as a hot breath of air against his skin.  
  
There was no hurry. This wasn’t filled with urgency. This wasn’t about rushing to fulfillment, this was about enjoying each moment, each touch, kiss, sigh, and moan. This was about celebrating pulling down the zipper of her dress, about letting Felicity slowly open his dress shirt button by button so that she could kiss each inch of revealed skin. This was about lifting her up, carrying her to their bedroom, and shedding the remaining clothes to continue the teasing exploration of each other on their soft mattress.  
  
Her hands roamed his body, traced his muscles, his skin marked and unmarked alike, and found their way to his ass—a touch she accompanied with a compliment.  
  
Surprisingly, that triggered a rant involving leather pants and Quentin Lance—and all Oliver could do was chuckle, because this was so Felicity. And right in that moment he felt carefree. Lying naked in bed, laughing together, just being them—to Oliver it couldn’t get better than this. And just in that moment nothing but them existed and all that was wrong in this world, in his world, didn’t matter for a while, because he was with his love. **  
  
** He wanted this to last and so he took his time, kissing, stroking, sucking, teasing. He loved the curves of her body, her softness to his hardness, the tenderness of her skin, which was flawless, without any scars or marks. Finally, he sat up and pulled her into his lap. Straddling him, she sank down on him and he groaned, closing his eyes at the sensation of her wrapped around him. He forced himself to open his eyes and rested his forehead against hers, buried deep within her, completely still. She sighed and opened her mouth to say something, but he chose to start moving in that moment and all that left her lips was a moan making him smile. He loved that he could make Felicity forget all words.  
  
He moved nearly lazily and she met his thrusts perfectly. They built the pleasure slowly, their skin rubbing together exquisitely. Sweat was coating his body, his breathing was getting heavier and heavier. Her arms rested on his shoulders and he moved his hands to her back, bringing her closer to him, causing her breasts to move against his chest. She threw her head back. He could feel the growing urgency in her movements and in the way she worked her muscles around him, gripping him and forcing an incoherent grunt from his lips. He thrust a little harder, needing the stronger friction, too. Their eyes met again and he could see how close she was. She was beautiful in her passion, stripped of all acts and masks and just riding the feeling of raw emotion.  
  
He watched her as he tipped her over the edge and she came undone around him. Her lips parted in a soundless cry and her eyelids fluttered shut as she stiffened against him. He kept moving, feeling her tighten around him. A loud gasp was his signal that she was coming down from her high. She sucked air into her lungs, completely out of breath, but met his thrust anyway, grinding against him, tilting her hips to bring him deeper. He wanted to last a little bit longer but it was no use. Ecstasy took over with one last forceful jerk of his hips. He grunted, words left his lips without him noticing. He was flying and only coming down slowly.  
  
They both gasped for air, sweaty and spent. He hugged her, not ready to let her get up. A teasing smirk shone in her eyes and he hurried to speak up before she could. “Please,” he rasped, “no prison-sex jokes.”  
  
She laughed, caught, and buried her head against his neck. “You know me too well,” she whispered against his skin.  
  
That, he felt, was the best compliment he had ever gotten.  
  
  
  
**May 4 th, 2013**  
  
The original plan had been to be the _best_ best man possible.  
  
The first bump in the road to perfection had been a murder by black arrows. Oliver had been on his way to Tommy Merlyn’s, ready to keep his friend company during his last night as an unmarried man when Diggle had called, informing him that the other archer had killed Frank Chang—the man Diggle had once recorded having a very suspicious conversation with Oliver’s mother.  
  
It was the second sign of the other archer within a week. On Wednesday he had killed Dr. Markov, Unidac Industries’ lead scientist, only hours before The Hood paid the company a visit. That had spiked Oliver’s paranoia. It had also made Diggle observe that the other archer was most likely tying up loose ends in Merlyn’s name. They were running out of time. Oliver hadn’t needed his partner to say it to know. Diggle, being Diggle, had said it anyway just to drive the point home.  
  
The death of Frank Chang was unnecessary proof that John Diggle was right—and that Moira Queen was most likely in danger, too. Last night, Oliver had stood in the Foundry and been unable to come up with one good reason why he shouldn’t go and confront his mother in full Hood-gear until she finally told him everything she knew. Felicity’s silence had spoken volumes, too. They had run out of options.  
  
Feeling the need to act instantly, Oliver had hooded up and driven to Queen Mansion—only to find that his mother wasn’t alone, but with Walter.  
  
Oliver had planned to spend that night with Tommy Merlyn. Instead, he had spent the night hiding in a tree on the grounds of Queen Mansion waiting for his stepfather to leave—which he hadn’t. He and his mother had spent the whole night in the sitting room, talking.  
  
Luckily, Felicity and Diggle agreed with Oliver that not even Malcolm Merlyn would go and ruin his son’s wedding day. So whatever the Undertaking was, it wouldn’t happen today—finger’s crossed.  
  
Which still left Oliver the chance to be a _good_ best man.  
  
Until Felicity had a nervous breakdown over dresses.  
  
Her heated rant had come out of nowhere. Storming into the bathroom while he showered that morning, she had been a bundle of nerves babbling about how red might be the color of love but still was insanely inappropriate for a wedding, and what had she been thinking, buying _that_ dress?  
  
Nothing of it had been about clothing, Oliver knew. He had felt the tension building inside her for days. Felicity’s nervousness wasn’t rooted in fashion dilemmas but in the fact that they were going to the wedding of his ex-girlfriend (who she disliked despite a peace-treaty made for the sake of keeping up appearances and who – even worse – had a cop-father who was trying to put Felicity and Oliver behind bars) and his friend (who she liked even less and who– even worse – had a father who was responsible for too many evils in the past and possible future to name).  
  
That didn’t exactly hold potential for the happiest day of Felicity’s life.  
  
They didn’t have a choice. They had to go to this wedding to not raise any suspicions. They had to face the father of the bride and the groom and act unfazed.  
  
But Oliver could take the time to make sure she went there a little bit more relaxed.  
  
That was the reason he ran up the stairs to the church thirty minutes later than he had originally planned.  
  
It could have been twenty-five, but he had to turn around after Felicity called him to tell him that he had forgotten the rings.  
  
The fact that he (now) had the rings left the possibility for Oliver to be a _decent_ best man.  
  
Oliver was out of breath when he raced toward the door labeled “Groom”. He knocked, but didn’t wait for an inviting call before pulling it open, saying, “Tommy, man, I’m sorry.”  
  
The room Oliver rushed into was small, but luxuriously furnished—this was the church the wealthy of the city visited, after all. Tommy Merlyn stood on a plush carpet in front of a full body mirror, next to furniture that tried to look Victorian, and greeted his friend with a look of obvious relief. “Buddy, thank God! Do you know how to tie a bowtie? I printed this thing from the internet, but it’s too complicated.”  
  
In three steps Oliver was with his friend. “I told you,” Oliver said, referring to their joint shopping trip, “you should have taken a clip-on.”  
  
“And I told you: Laurel would’ve killed me if I did.” Tommy turned to his friend. “You always wore bowties as a kid, tell me you know how to do this.”  
  
“I know how to do this,” Oliver assured his friend. “I was seven when my mother taught me. She said it’s knowledge essential for a gentleman.”  
  
“No wonder I never got the hang of it.”  
  
“Yep,” Oliver agreed, dimly smirking, “makes total sense.” Oliver reached for the white cloth dangling around his friend’s neck. “I’m sorry about last night, man.”  
  
“Don’t worry,” Tommy dismissed. “After everything that’s happened with Thea, I understand. You had to go after the hospital called. Is she okay?”  
  
Oliver felt slightly guilty for using Thea’s struggle as an excuse, but it was the only thing he had been able to come up with last night. Avoiding Tommy’s eyes, he concentrated on the bowtie. “Yes. It was just a false alarm. Walter and Roy are on their way there. Visitors are allowed on Saturdays. But Thea knows it’s your wedding day—and she understands.” At least that part was true.  
  
“That’s good,” Tommy said. A smirk was audible in Tommy Merlyn’s voice when he continued, “And what’s your excuse for being late today?”  
  
Involuntarily Oliver’s eyes snapped away from his fingers working on the bowtie and to his friend. He felt strangely caught by this question.  
  
Tommy noticed and frowned, “What?”  
  
“I’m debating how to answer.”  
  
“What are the options?”  
  
“Showering with my wife and forgetting the rings.”  
  
“If I were you I’d go with the shower-sex. That gives the guy who’s about to get married hope for his martial life; the other thing gives him anxiety.”  
  
“Fair point,” Oliver nodded. “And there’s no need to be anxious. I have the rings. You’ll have a wonderful day—and a great marriage.”  
  
“Yeah.” Tommy smiled.  
  
With one last nod Oliver turned his attention back to the bowtie. His hands worked methodically in a sequence he had repeated only forty minutes ago on his own black bowtie. But doing it on somebody else’s neck was unfamiliar. Still, when he was done, the tie looked impeccable. Slightly proud of himself he looked up and was a little taken aback to find Tommy watching him with an unfamiliarly earnest expression on his face. Oliver frowned. “What?”  
  
“We didn’t really get the chance to talk about what happened the other day….” Giving himself a visible inward push, Tommy clarified, “Felicity being arrested.”  
  
“She was just taken in for questioning.”  
  
“For working with The Hood,” Tommy stressed. “I remember you chiding me for letting Laurel work with that crazy person.”  
  
“Felicity’s not working with him.”  
  
“How can you be so sure?”  
  
“Because I trust her.”  
  
“Ollie, man,” Tommy sighed. “I love you, but… I worry. How can you put so much trust in her? I know she wanted to have your baby and I know she had a hard time, I know I made a mistake. But that doesn’t change the fact that she lied to the world and claimed to be your legitimate wife, lived off your money and your name when we both know that she was never intended to be more than a one-night stand.”  
  
Oliver stared at the man opposite him. “You honestly want to do this _now_?” He felt like checking, because this didn’t seem the right time to dive into all of _that_ when Oliver had come here with the intention to just get this over with in the first place.  
  
Plus, if Tommy really wanted to go there, chances were high he’d end up with a very _pissed_ best man.  
  
“We have another hour,” Tommy shrugged. “And if I don’t do it now it’ll have to wait another month. Not that I’ll really mind. Barbados, and all.”  
  
“Barbados?” Oliver said in an effort to set his friend’s mind on other things. “Why are you going there?”  
  
“Seriously?” Tommy looked at his friend in disbelief. Bringing his index finger to his chin in an exaggerated thinking gesture, he stated, “Hmm…. Why would Laurel and I go there the day after our wedding?”  
  
“Okay, okay, I get it. But I thought you’d be honeymooning in New York. Didn’t you tell me about a week in the Big Apple?”  
  
“I did, but my dad’s being awesome. It’s his wedding gift, relaxation deluxe for three weeks.”  
  
“Wow,” Oliver said, trying to bring some excitement he wasn’t feeling. “That sounds like quite the honeymoon.”  
  
“Yeah, Laurel was hesitant, being away for so long. She’s working on some important cases, but she gave in. She hasn’t taken a vacation in five years. Plus, it’s a gift. It would be impolite to decline.” Tommy grinned. “It’s a really great gift. My father’s really making up for lost time.”  
  
By sending his son away. Oliver kept from mentioning that because even though, to Tommy, that comment might sound like judgment about his father’s parenting skills – which were abysmal – it really was an observation that told Oliver how badly he was running out of time. Oliver was sure that Malcolm Merlyn was getting his son out of the way for an extended period of time. Whatever The Undertaking was, it was approaching and Tommy wasn’t supposed to be around for it.  
  
There wasn’t the tiniest aspect in this mental consideration that Oliver wanted to discuss with Tommy Merlyn.  
  
“Ollie, we need to talk about Felicity and The Hood.”  
  
That was another thing Oliver really didn’t want to discuss with Tommy Merlyn.  
  
Still, the calm statement snapped Oliver out of his thoughts and back to the posh room. With the awareness of his surroundings came the realization that his diversion tactic had failed. Reflexively, he took a step away from Tommy, his body tensed, his back straightened, his shoulders pushed back a little. “How you do know about that anyway? Did your father-in-law tell you? Isn’t there some police confidentiality?”  
  
“Quentin didn’t say anything… to me. He went to Laurel for legal advice.”  
  
“So she and her father made up. That’s good.”  
  
Tommy sighed and Oliver knew that another attempt to change topics had failed. “Quentin’s onto Felicity. He says he has a video of her and The Hood. Ollie, he has a video of your wife and the vigilante. Who knows what they are planning.”  
  
“What?!” Oliver mocked. “You think they’re ganging up to get rid of me?”  
  
It was meant to be a joke, but the look on Tommy’s face made it obvious that the Merlyn heir wasn’t joking. It also told Oliver that Lance hadn’t told Laurel about his suspicions of who the vigilante really was. Oliver stared at the other man, “Are you out of your _mind_?”  
  
“I’m wondering the same thing about you.” Tommy voice was soft, his words accompanied by a calming gesture. “Let’s just review the facts, okay? The day you came back you moved in with her—with a stranger you didn’t know anything about, pushing everybody else away. Since then you hole up at her place, you rarely go out—apart from driving Felicity around town. Even though we started a business together, I barely get to see you, you don’t talk to me, don’t tell me what’s going on, don’t share anything about your time away. The only time I felt like I saw the real you was when you yelled at me about that whole abortion rumor.” He held his hands up. “It was justified, I deserved that, but you lost your cool then, buddy. Makes me think there’s a lot bottled up that I don’t know about.”  
  
“Tommy, that was months ago.”  
  
“The bachelor party showed me that the real you’s still in there. I’m not talking about fucking around or getting wasted but having some _fun_. Taking life easy. Smiling, man. You never smile.”  
  
“I smile.”  
  
“Not when you’re with me.” He pointed at Oliver. “But _that_ , you do that a lot, that tense face with the lips pressing together. I know things can’t be like they were, but I’m still your best friend. And the fact that Felicity’s close to The Hood worries me, because she’s always very detached when she’s with you. She rarely smiles, too. All of that makes me feel like she isn’t good for you.”  
  
Fighting the urge to press his lips together, Oliver looked at the man opposite him and a cold realization slapped him in the face: this man wasn’t his friend anymore.  
  
Tommy was a man Oliver had known since kindergarten, a man he had grown up with, a man who he had trusted with his secrets when they had been about destroying a ridiculously expensive vase and blaming it on the maid or that his first time had been more clumsy humping than the extraordinary fucking he had claimed it to be or that he didn’t feel smart enough for college or that following in his father’s footsteps was awfully intimidating.  
  
Those were all secrets of his past.  
  
Tommy knew them, handled them with care and understanding as a best friend should. But Tommy didn’t even know one of Oliver’s present secrets—and Oliver would give his all for it to stay this way.  
  
Because in the present, Tommy Merlyn wasn’t a person Oliver Queen trusted.  
  
If Tommy ever found out Oliver was The Hood he would react poorly, Oliver was sure of that. Tommy could never accept that side of Oliver. Tommy would judge Oliver, deem him a bad person, and distance himself. Even if he didn’t turn Oliver in to Lance, he would cut ties. Oliver didn’t doubt any of that for one second.  
  
But Oliver couldn’t exactly fault him for any of it; The Hood had killed people, not liking him didn’t exactly equal a bad moral compass. A much bigger trust-shaking issue was that Oliver didn’t have confidence in Tommy Merlyn’s moral compass when it came to his father. Oliver didn’t trust Tommy to choose anybody, anything over the approval of his dad.  
  
Time and time again Malcolm Merlyn had proven to be a bad person: he had neglected Tommy and pushed him away, he had talked degradingly about Laurel, he had been manipulative and calculating—and Tommy had found excuses for him every time, he had run back to him every time.  
  
Oliver had ignored it for weeks, but now that the truth stared in his face he couldn’t do it anymore. His trusting, unquestioning friendship with Tommy Merlyn was over.  
  
In fact, the end of it had started the morning Tommy Merlyn had confessed to spreading the abortion rumor. That had been the beginning of Oliver questioning his friend, his morals, his compassion. Tommy had twisted Jonas’ death into something unspeakable—and ever since Oliver had held Felicity crying by Jonas’ grave, he knew how irrevocable that loss truly was. Ever since that day, Oliver had shared her loss. It wasn’t Felicity’s son buried there, it was _their_ son, the little life they had created. Tommy had trampled on that, he had added to Felicity’s already immense pain.  
  
Tommy’s apology didn’t change any of that. Felicity had accepted that Tommy Merlyn was a part of her life because he was Oliver’s friend, because Tommy was something of Oliver’s pre-island life that he had needed to hold on to at the time. She had agreed to be grown up and the bigger person for Oliver’s sake. But she didn’t trust Tommy, never let her guard down around him, always wore the mask she had created because of the rumor Tommy had started—and now Tommy cited that as proof that Felicity was cold and not good for Oliver.  
  
There was probably some irony in there, but Oliver had never much cared for that.  
  
Instead, all he could do in that moment was acknowledge something that had been brewing inside him for months: Oliver couldn’t forgive Tommy. He despised Tommy for what he had done and that was the root of all the trust issues he had when it came to Tommy’s moral compass.  
  
That probably made Oliver a _bad_ best man.  
  
But since Tommy claimed to have seen the version of Oliver he wanted to be real reappear during his bachelor-party – an evening Oliver had hated – Oliver was sure that Tommy didn’t have the slightest idea of who Oliver really was, how he really felt. Oliver could easily fake it for today to make sure a man he shared a past with had a great day. He could do this for the sake of the friendship they had shared and because Oliver really didn’t want to discuss anything that really mattered to him with Tommy. Because Tommy didn’t matter anymore.  
  
“Tommy,” he sighed. “Lance is blowing this video out of proportion. There’s nothing going on there. I appreciate that you worry, but you don’t have to. I trust Felicity. We’re committed to each other and nothing you say changes how I feel about her. Please, just accept it and let it go. You’re about to get married, this is your day, let’s not make it about anything else.”  
  
Hesitation radiated from Tommy. He obviously wasn’t ready to let this go, felt like saying more, but then he brought one of his easy smiles to his face. “You’re right. I’m the one who should be _groomed_.”  
  
“Very clever,” Oliver complimented dryly and motioned toward the mirror, “Check your bowtie.”  
  
Turning, Tommy did as he was told. “I see your gentleman skills are flawless.” A moment of silence followed before Tommy slowly met Oliver’s eyes in the mirror. Sounding tentatively, he asked, “I just feel like checking: you got the rings, right?”  
  
Patting his chest pocket, Oliver nodded. “All set. Don’t worry, I got this. I’m your man.”  
  
“Best man.” Tommy smiled. “I’m glad you’re back, man. I wouldn’t want anybody but you here.”  
  
Oliver chose to simply hug his friend, knowing that, after the Barbados-honeymoon, they’d have to talk. But not today.  
  
________________________________________  
  
  
Felicity Queen believed in punctuality. She also believed in perfect timing. This belief was even stronger today: she was determined to reduce the time she had to spend alone surrounded by hostile, judging people to the barest minimum. John had told her three times that they needed to go until Felicity finally gave in. Luckily, Felicity had anticipated that John would drive a litter quicker to make up for her delay.  
  
Ultimately, Felicity’s calculations had been perfect (they always were, Felicity knows her math): with three minutes to spare, Felicity entered the church. People were already seated, the groom and the best man had already taken position up front, and Felicity slipped into one of the last rows with barely anybody noticing her.  
  
Oliver, of course, noticed. Many rows filled with people separated them, but their eyes met for a moment and Felicity sensed that all of his defenses were up. He was tense and stiff, his face was closed off and his eyes were serious. Felicity dreaded this day, dreaded meeting the Merlyns and the Lances, dreaded the lions whose den they had entered and who surrounded and outnumbered them. Seeing Oliver like this caused her fears to flare: had the first negative encounter already happened?  
  
Not knowing what else to do Felicity sent him what she hoped was an encouraging smile. He understood her intention, the upward tug of the corners of his mouth proved it. It was a poor excuse of a smile, but it was all he was capable of in this moment, she knew.  
  
Suddenly somebody slid in the bench next to Felicity, breaking her connection with Oliver. Seeing Moira sitting down next to her, honest appreciation claimed Felicity. The women barely managed to exchange whispered words of greeting accompanied by pained smiles before the music changed. Moira Queen was the master, Felicity Queen was only the apprentice. The Padawan of perfect timing still had a long way to go.  
  
__________________________________________  
  
  
This day came with too many potential traps not to end up in disaster. Oliver had come up with a lot of potential confrontations to expect on this perfectly sunny Saturday. Tommy confronting him about Felicity had never been one of them. It had darkened his day in a way Oliver hadn’t anticipated. That had been bad. It had turned worse when Malcolm Merlyn had joined them in the groom’s room. Oliver had followed his previously set tactic of saying as little as possible. Luckily, the Merlyn men had spent most of the conversation on their own, Malcolm telling his son about the day he had married his mother, Rebecca.  
  
The father-son bonding would have been nice to witness if Oliver didn’t despise the father with an hatred that was worrying—even for somebody with an alter ego as dark as his own.  
  
Taking position next to Tommy in front of the altar while feeling Quentin Lance’s piercing stare managed to drag down Oliver’s mood even more.  
  
It was a testament of the love shared by Tommy and Laurel that witnessing their wedding caused a little bit of sunshine to reach Oliver.  
  
Sure, their wedding was elaborate. The church was packed with red roses and the rich of the city. The string quartet played Bach. The most overused Bible passage in the history of weddings was quoted (that thing about love being patient and kind, Corin… something—which wasn’t only overused, but also wrong. In Oliver’s experience love wasn’t about patience but passion. It was hot and irrational, it was steadying and world-shaking at the same time, it made you throw caution to the wind and caused one smile by the right person to brighten your darkest day.) Laurel’s white dress had a train and her wedding ring sported a huge diamond. But all the cliché was muted for Oliver when Tommy slipped the ring on Laurel’s finger while saying his vows. Standing behind the groom, Oliver had a perfect view on the bride, on her sparkling eyes, her happy smile, the blush covering her cheeks. Oliver had never seen Laurel like this, he surely had never made her look like this.  
  
Letting his eyes quickly travel over the assembled guests, Oliver saw that Lance had lost his angry stare. Instead his eyes were moist and he accepted a handkerchief his ex-wife Dinah held out to him. Malcolm Merlyn’s eyes were perfectly dry but even he looked moved by what he saw.  
  
Without thinking about it, Oliver glanced to where he knew Felicity sat. Their eyes met and they shared a smile, brightening up this darkened day a little more.  
  
_________________________________________  
  
  
A few months ago Felicity would have never believed this possible, but today she was glad her mother-in-law was here. Moira Queen was her only ally in this and her presence calmed her. The Queen women stood next to each other in a huge ballroom with richly decorated walls, huge chandeliers hanging from the curved ceiling, and rounded French windows letting the sunlight stream into the room. It shone onto circular tables, cast highlights on silverware and assembled glasses and showed off the elaborate flower arrangements.  
  
Felicity had just decided that she preferred her own wedding to all of _this_ (as if Bach and the Bible the love quote during the ceremony hadn’t been clichéd enough) when Moira reached for Felicity’s arm, demanding her attention. Turning to her, she saw Moira open her mouth to say something.  
  
“Moira, dear.”  
  
Doris van Sutton suddenly stood next to them, catching them by surprise. As always Moira didn’t miss a beat but greeted her friend with a cheek to cheek kiss. “Doris, how nice to see you. I didn’t know you would be here.”  
  
“Oh, you know how it is: Gregory and Malcolm are business partners.” Doris made a dismissive gesture, making it clear that she was one of those ‘have to be invited for appearances’-guests and didn’t care. “But you know me, I never miss a chance to witness a wedding. And this one was beautiful. The bride looked stunning. Absolutely stunning.” She turned to Felicity. “You really missed out, dear. Your wedding could have been a fairy tale.” She gestured around the room. “Bigger than this. Becoming for becoming a Queen.”  
  
Felicity was too well-practiced to let the snappy answer she wanted to give actually leave her lips. Instead, she nodded. “Laurel’s dress was really something. I’m sure it’s a Vera Wang. And the ceremony was beautiful.”  
  
Moira plucked two champagne glasses off the tray of a passing waiter, handing one to Felicity, “It really was. Everything was very tasteful.”  
  
“You can never go wrong with that Corinthians quote,” Doris agreed and rested her hand on Moira’s wrist, stopping her from taking a sip of her champagne. “I know it must be a bittersweet day for you since you never saw your boy marry.”  
  
Now Felicity took a huge swig from her champagne (which wasn’t the smartest thing to do since she had skipped breakfast in favor for being devoured by her husband).  
  
Moira sent her friend (were these two women really friends? Was the term ‘frenemy’ still acceptable or too much last decade? Didn’t change the fact that it was fitting) a dismissive smile. “I see my boy leading a good marriage. That’s enough for me.”  
  
When exactly had Moira Queen turned into the best mother-in-law imaginable? A sudden wave of affection raced through Felicity. She smiled a silent thank you as Doris von Sutton gushed, “That’s so true. A nice wedding is easy, a good marriage is the hard part.” She craned her neck. “Where _is_ Oliver?”  
  
“Best man duties,” Felicity answered. “They’re outside, taking pictures.”  
  
“Oh, I’m sure they can cover up the bruise on his face.” Doris said. “Modern technologies are astonishing. And apart from the bruise he’s looking very handsome. A man in a tux can never go wrong.”  
  
Felicity nodded agreement, because even though the previous statement had been made by Doris von Sutton it wasn’t exactly wrong.  
  
“Oh!” Doris looked past Moira. “Please, excuse me for a moment. I just have to greet Beatrix Verne. I didn’t know she’d be here.” She sent the Queen women one last smile. “We’ll talk later.”  
  
Felicity had the common sense to wait until Doris was out earshot before muttering, “God, I hope not.” She turned to Moira to ask her if she had news about Thea – Walter went to visit her today, after all – only to find her mother-in-law standing surprisingly close to her. The older woman reached for her upper arm, demanding her attention. “Felicity, I need your help.”  
  
It was a forceful whisper, and it caused a shiver to run through Felicity. There was so much urgency in Moira’s voice that Felicity answered instantly. “What do you need?”  
  
Moira’s eyes quickly swept the room. Then she said, in a voice barely audible, “I am in a desperate situation, and I ran out of options. Please, know this. Please know that is the reason why I’m reaching out to you.”  
  
“Moira, you don’t need to be desperate to ask me for help,” Felicity stressed, strangely annoyed that Moira felt this way.  
  
“I am aware, but… my request is delicate.” She glanced around again. “But believe me: you are my family and I will fight to keep any harm from you.”  
  
Felicity felt more and more uneasy. “Just tell me what you want.”  
  
“I want to talk to The Hood.” Moira raised her hand, keeping Felicity from saying anything. “I am aware that you have absolutely no contact with him. You do not know this criminal, and all accusations raised by Detective Lance are outrageous.” The eyes of the older blonde drilled into Felicity’s. “Forget what I just said. It was foolish of me to even bring that up. Please, excuse me, it have been a few stressful weeks.”  
  
Felicity’s heart was beating up to her throat, resonating in a slight quiver in her voice as she answered, “Of course, Moira, I completely understand.”  
  
Moira smiled and Felicity couldn’t help but think she looked slightly relaxed. “I knew you would.” She took a step away from Felicity, bringing more space between them. A fake smile rose into place. “Oh, look, the newlyweds. Seems like we should find our places.”  
  
____________________________________________  
  
  
Being married to the best man meant that Felicity’s place was uncomfortably close to everybody she wished she were far, far, faaar away from—plus Oliver. There were Tommy and Malcolm Merlyn, Laurel Lance (or was she Laurel Merlyn now? Laurel Lance-Merlyn? Somehow she seemed like a woman to hyphenate), Laurel’s parents, her maid of honor plus her plus one, all surrounding Oliver and her.  
  
This was like a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from.  
  
Felicity’s strategy to deal with this worst-case scenario was to reduce all interaction to nodding and smiling. She only had to get through the meal, after that she could excuse herself, pull Oliver to the dance floor, and hide in a bathroom stall until they reached the earliest time that was socially acceptable to leave.  
  
“The fish is delicious,” Dinah Lance complimented.  
  
“Gilthead,” Tommy answered, chewing on his steak. “Sounds fishy, if you ask me.” Polite chuckles were the answer.  
  
“Felicity,” Laurel said, “thank you for recommending the flower shop. Melody really did an amazing job. She had great ideas.”  
  
Appreciating the attempt to keep this polite and wanting nothing less than to ruin Laurel’s day, Felicity went the patented route of nodding, smiling, and saying as little as possible, “That’s great to hear. I’m glad I could help.”  
  
“How’s Thea?” Joanna, Laurel’s maid of honor and colleague from the CNRI asked, “I heard she was sick. Will she be back on Monday?”  
  
“No,” Oliver stated calmly, looking up from cutting his steak, “I’m afraid she won’t be.”  
  
Felicity glanced at Oliver. Seriously? That was all he wanted to tell her? Oliver met her eyes and gave her a look that said: _Seriously. That’s all I want to tell her!_  
  
“She’s in rehab.” Quentin Lance apparently didn’t mind giving more information. “I must say, it seems about time.”  
  
“Dad!” Laurel chided, while Dinah Lance added a muttered, “Look who’s judgmental about addictions.”  
  
Taking pity in Joanna, who looked like she wished the earth swallowed her whole, Felicity said, “Thea’s getting the help she needs. The judge agreed that she could finish her community service after her treatment.”  
  
“That’s good,” Joanna said, reaching for her white wine. “I hope she gets better soon.”  
  
“Talking about the law,” Malcolm Merlyn stated. “Felicity, I heard you and Quentin had a little misunderstanding?”  
  
The sound of cutlery hitting porcelain followed this statement. It came from Tommy, who cleared his throat and sent his father a warning glance.  
  
Strangely, Felicity’s first reaction to Merlyn’s statement was satisfaction. She had bet Oliver that Merlyn would bring it up and try to rattle her. (Sadly, Oliver had agreed—which equaled her winning nothing but the knowledge that she and her husband knew their enemy…. She didn’t even want to start contemplating the fact that she and her husband _had_ an enemy.) Malcolm Merlyn had done the same thing at Tommy’s birthday dinner, tested her, checked his suspicions. She had expected it to happen again; it was part of the reason why she had been so uneasy—because this time Quentin Lance was here and if there was one person seeing and analyzing as least as good as Merlyn, senior, it was the detective. Felicity had dreaded this moment, but now that it had come a familiar calm swept over her. She met Malcolm’s eyes. “Oh, it’s nothing to worry about.”  
  
“So,” Merlyn checked, “you’re not worried?”  
  
“There’s no reason for me to be.”  
  
Rising an eyebrow, the CEO of Merlyn Global turned to the SCPD-Detective.  
  
Lance was busy chewing his steak. He shrugged. “I’m not worried either.”  
  
“No offense, Felicity,” Malcolm said, “but I would be worried about being arrested.”  
  
“Oh,” Felicity said, “that’s true. Then I’d be worried, too. But I wasn’t arrested.”  
  
“She wasn’t,” Lance stressed and Felicity heard the familiar snarl in the detective’s voice that spoke of utter dislike. “I just needed some more information about the hostage situation at Big Belly Burger.” For once the dislike wasn’t directed at a member of the Queen family; it was directed at Malcolm Merlyn. “Mrs. Queen’s a witness.”  
  
Felicity looked at Lance, trying to change topics. “That reminds me: thank you for making sure I got my ring back so quickly.”  
  
“Of course,” Lance said, fixating her with a stare, “It was a gift from your _husband_.”  
  
“Serves me right for trusting the rumor mill.” Malcolm showed perfectly white teeth in an act that could be considering smiling if one was generous.  
  
“You should never trust hearsay,” Oliver stated calmly while reaching for his mineral water, bringing all attention to him. He appeared calm, but Felicity noticed the slight tensing of his muscles. It was more a signal of anger than of unease, though. “Just look at me,” he said, fixing Merlyn, senior, “Rumor had it I was dead. But I’m not that easy to get rid of.”  
  
“Ha,” Tommy said, “seems like the reports of your death were greatly exaggerated.” He winked. “Look at me, quoting Mark Twain, seems like college wasn’t a waste after all. Smart and good-looking,” he winked at his bride, “seems like you made quite a catch.”  
  
Laurel smirked. “Yes. Seems like I did.”  
  
___________________________________________________  
  
  
The first dance had been danced, the cake had been cut, the bouquet had been thrown, the best man’s speech has been given (it had been rather short but adequately heartfelt). Standing on the steps, watching the black Rolls Royce with cans clanking behind it and ‘just married’ written on the rear window drive away, Felicity couldn’t believe that she had actually survived this day. The worst thing had been that dreadful hour cramped at the table with the most horrible person on earth—plus some lesser evils.  
  
Now all that was left to do was to tell Oliver that his mother wanted to talk to his alter ego.  
  
That seemed like the adequately awful ending to an awful day.  
  
Oliver stood next to her, his arm around her, his hand on her hip. She looked up at him. “Ready to get out of here?”  
  
He kissed her temple. “I think we have time for one more drink.”  
  
Stunned, she blinked up at him. That honestly wasn’t the answer she had expected. Oliver’s hand left her hip and instead reached for her right. “Come on,” he said gently and led her back inside, only to let go of her hand. “I’ll get us something to drink.”  
  
She frowned at him, suspicious. “What are you up to?”  
  
He didn’t even try to deny it. “Giving us ten quiet minutes before whatever’s got you in knots brings on the next catastrophe.” Seeing the caught look on her face, he smiled dimly. “You’ve tried to tell me three times already. It must be serious.”  
  
“It can wait ten more minutes,” Felicity decided and motioned toward the French double doors leading to the terrace. “I’ll wait outside.”  
  
A late Californian spring night greeted her. It was warm; a pleasant, soft breeze brushed her bare arms, causing the fairy lights illuminating the terrace to move slightly. A wide staircase led down to the park stretching out beneath. More fairy lights were woven in the trees there, torches flickered by the paths. Standing by a heavy stone balustrade on the terrace, Felicity watched couples wander through the romantically lit darkness while voices and music from the ballroom floated to her.  
  
It didn’t take long until she felt Oliver approaching. She turned to him, watching him take the last steps to her with a smile. He held a glass of red wine out to her. “Thank you,” she said, taking it.  
  
“To us,” Oliver said, offering his own glass which Felicity knew contained Scotch, neat. **  
  
** They clicked glasses and Felicity smiled. “Prosnost.”  
  
Oliver chuckled. They both took a sip. Oliver moved closer to her and put his glass down on the balustrade in front of him. “It’s been quite a day.”  
  
“Yah!” Felicity took another sip of red. “That seems like an understatement. And that says a lot considering some of the days we’ve had. Nobody got kidnapped, nobody was hurt, nobody nearly died—actually, I’d say for us this day counts as a win. A big one.”  
  
“That’s true.” Nodding thoughtfully, Oliver let his fingers trail down her bare arm. “You really decided against wearing red.”  
  
Felicity glanced down at the bright blue, floor length dress she had chosen. “It felt less attention grabbing,” she admitted, because it was the truth. Today she had wanted to fly under the radar.  
  
“That failed,” Oliver’s fingers still danced over her skin. “You definitely grabbed my attention.” He kissed her bare shoulder. “You’re beautiful.”  
  
Her cheeks turned a little warm. Felicity didn’t know if such a compliment should make her heart beat quicker, but that didn’t change that it did. “Thank you.” She set her wine glass down and gently tugged his bowtie. “You look very handsome yourself.”  
  
Silence followed. The quiet settling over them was comfortable, and Felicity enjoyed being here with him. Sharing a moment and taking a breath had been a great idea. She was about to compliment him on his good thinking (and probably his good looks, just because…) when his eyes settled on hers.  
  
“Felicity,” he said and the tenderness in his voice was unmistakable. It was a tone he rarely used, reserved for her only, and it caused a happy tingle to rush though Felicity as she looked up at him, waiting for him to say whatever he felt like saying next (probably ‘I love you.’ His voice held that fondness that usually came with an I love you). “I love you.” A smile showed on her face. Only he could say those three words like that. “Will you marry me?” Those four words, on the other hand, were entirely unexpected. She gawked at him.  
  
“I know,” Oliver said and reached for her hand. “We are married, but… that was drunken stupidity. But will you marry me again? Sober? Knowing what you know now?”  
  
Felicity smiled. “Of course.”  
  
“You didn’t even hesitate.”  
  
Felicity couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you wanted more doubt about our marriage.”  
  
“I’m serious, Felicity. I realized today…. No, that’s a lie. Since I met Palmer I’ve thought about it. He proposed and did this right, he asked you to choose him—”  
  
“Oliver,” Felicity cut in. “I told you: I don’t want Ray, I want you. I choose you.”  
  
“I know,” he breathed. His hand let go of hers to gently brush his knuckles against her cheek. “I don’t doubt that.” He sighed. “That’s not what I wanted to say….” He let his hand drop again, resting it on top of the balustrade. He took a moment before he met her eyes again. “I love that you’re my wife, that you have my last name, that we’re a team. There’s nobody in this world I trust more than you. Our marriage, it started as a joke, but I’m damn serious about this. And that’s why I want to do this again—right this time. I want us to say yes to each other in front of our family and friends and commit with them witnessing it. I want us to have rings. I have no doubt that you’re the person I’ll spend the rest of my life with. So, please, Felicity Megan Queen, will you marry me sober?”  
  
Again, she didn’t hesitate. She smiled, joyous. “Yes. I’d love to marry you sober.” His arms flew around her as he kissed her. Emotions danced through her. Joy, love, excitement, and contentment tangoed up and down her spine, causing her heart to swell and her cheeks to heat. She cupped his face, feeling his stubble underneath her fingertips. There were so many things she wanted to say but the only thing her lips formed was, “Is it wrong that the idea of you wearing a wedding band kind of turns me on?”  
  
He chuckled happily. She could feel the bliss coming off him, too. “No,” he said with a smirk in his voice, “that’s quite all right.”  
  
“And I want a small ceremony, something understated, with just our closest people—and no cliché Bible love quote.”  
  
A smile showed on Oliver’s face that she couldn’t quite place—but it was definitely positive. “That sounds perfect.” He kissed her again. “Okay,” he said, clearing his throat in an effort to wipe the happy smile off his face but failing. “Now that that’s settled. What do you need to tell me?”  
  
Felicity groaned. Way to rain on his own parade.


	40. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You wonderful, wonderful people. Your reaction to the previous chapter left me floating for a week. I’m very, very delighted that you enjoyed it—and that so many of you felt Oliver’s thoughts on his friendship with Tommy was a natural development of that storyline. When I said that I expected “words” in my last note I was referring to exactly that scene. And, well, there were words. I know that Oliver and Tommy’s friendship is well loved by many of you, but with this story it couldn’t end any other way than with an ending.
> 
> In honor of Fanfic Author Appreciation Day [all the love sent my way make me swoon and smile. Thank you!], please know that I appreciate you amazing readers any day. ♥
> 
> Finally – as always – the biggest transatlantic hug of awesome to **Albiona**. She’s a magical creature of wonderful.
> 
> It’s time to get some things done and finally move some serious plot. I once again sense words coming my way…. Okay, let’s do this. Happy reading and all my love. Jules

**May 4 th, 2013**  
  
In the blackness of the moonless night his surroundings were reduced to silhouettes: the trees spreading out their branches above him with the wind rustling their leaves, the two headstones (the tiny one belonging to his son, the bigger one honoring his father) he passed with quick steps bordering on a run, the massive stone walls of Queen Mansion towering above him—nothing but darker shadows in the dark.  
  
His head down, his knees bent, his bow in hand, The Hood ran across the lawn. The soft grass dimmed his perfectly sure steps. He knew where to go.  
  
Breaking into the house you grew up in, into a house with a security system installed by your wife and upgraded by your bodyguard-turned-partner came with the advantage of knowing were the cameras were placed. It was information he didn’t need. All security was offline. It wasn’t Felicity’s doing as they had originally planned. All alarms and cameras had been deactivated before she had even accessed the network.  
  
Moira Queen was making it very easy for a very dangerous man to get to her.  
  
The son within Oliver didn’t approve of her taking such a stupid risk. The part of Oliver needing to right his father’s wrongs couldn’t help but wonder how desperate his mother must be to do this. The dangerous man within Oliver that meant no harm to Moira Queen couldn’t help but appreciate that she made this easy for him.  
  
The invitation to come and talk to her was everywhere. Oliver knew his mother was waiting for him and he could guess where she’d be. Walking around the house, he found one window illuminated—and open. One perfectly aimed cable arrow later he was pulled upward. Using the momentum, he practically jumped through the window—right into his mother’s office.  
  
“Please, don’t shoot my lamp. I’ll turn it off.”  
  
The Hood had already drawn his bow, had already aimed at the lamp standing on the desk when Moira Queen’s request stopped him.  
  
Pulling the thin cord, she cut the small electric light, leaving only the flames flickering in the fireplace to illuminate the room. Shadows danced over the walls, the crackling of the wooden logs being eaten by fire filled the room. Slowly, his eyes never leaving the woman sitting behind her desk, The Hood put his back to the fireplace. His mother simply sat there with her folded hands resting on the desktop. Last time The Hood had confronted Moira Queen he had told her not to move and to stay still. This time she was doing both without needing to be told.  
  
“Thank you for coming.”  
  
That was a first. Nobody had ever thanked The Hood for entering their home. His bow raised, the bowstring drawn, the arrow aimed at her heart, he studied his mother. She looked unbelievably exhausted and there was an expression in her eyes like pure desperation.  
  
“I need your help to stop The Undertaking.” Moira Queen’s voice was measured with a forced calm that revealed the nerves she was desperately trying to hide.  
  
“What is The Undertaking?” The Hood asked sharply in his electronically distorted voice.  
  
“Levelling the Glades and everyone within it. Ostensibly, in order to rebuild it without its present difficulties.”  
  
The words reached Oliver’s ears, but his brain rejected them. “That’s impossible,” he snapped. “How could you level a whole district?”  
  
“With a device that triggers an earthquake. It was invented at Unidac Industries and Malcolm Merlyn turned it into a weapon using the applied sciences of my company.”  
  
Oliver was a man who had stared insanity in the eyes. He knew the destruction lunacy could cause and the determination that can come with dementia. All of this made him accept this madness as truth and swallow every desire to call it impossible once more.  
  
A cold shiver raced through him as he finally grasped the dimension of what was happening, of what was at stake, of the number of lives at risk. And suddenly it wasn’t The Hood asking the next question, it was the son in him, “How could you get involved with something like that?”  
  
Moira Queen had used a very matter-of-fact tone until now, trying to keep a sense of cool, but the coolness vanished within the blink of her eye. Her voice shook with poorly suppressed emotion as she forced out, “My husband…. He got involved without my knowledge. He helped Malcolm with his plan. He was just trying to do some good. He was lost. He was trying to make up for past mistakes.”  
  
“By killing innocent people?!” It was an angry snap rushing from Oliver’s lips. It wasn’t the threatening anger The Hood used to intimate people. It was the hurt aggravation of the son believing each word his mother was saying, because suddenly everything about his father made absolute sense. Luckily, the voice scrambler managed to mask most of the hurt in his voice. “How could this be doing GOOD?!”  
  
“That’s what I asked him.” Moira’s statement was a sad revelation, softly spoken with quiet remembrance. It felt like she was talking more to herself than to the man aiming an arrow at her. “I begged him not to do this, to put an end to this madness. He had every intention of doing so, he made a plan to stop this horror. Malcolm Merlyn killed him for it, making it seem like an accident. Malcolm murdered my husband because of what I did, because I spoke up for those people in the Glades. He nearly killed my son. I can’t even image what he went through.” She had been staring into nothingness, but now she fixed her eyes on the silhouette contrasting against the red flames in her fireplace. “You need to help me stop this. Because I can’t act openly, not without endangering my family. I was granted a miracle when my son came back; I can’t lose him again. I can’t lose any of them. All I ever wanted was to keep them safe.”  
  
From underneath his hood Oliver stared at his mother, his brain suddenly void, emptied by the emotions sparked at her first sentence. He was lacking words, lacking a reaction suitable for an unaffected stranger with a drawn bow.  
  
Because he wasn’t unaffected.  
  
All of this affected him in every way imaginable and he didn’t know how to distance himself from it in the way he needed not to tip his hand and reveal to his mother what must stay hidden. Suddenly it took nearly too much effort to keep the bow from shaking.  
  
_“Ask her if there were any specific threats.”_  
  
John Diggle’s calm voice hit Oliver’s ear through the com-system. It sounded enough like an order for Oliver to react instantly. “Were there any specific threats?”  
  
“No,” Moira shook her head. “Robert went to China to get help stopping The Undertaking. We weren’t aware Malcolm knew about his plan. Do you think we would have let our son join him on this trip, if we had?”  
  
_“No,”_ Diggle corrected, _“I meant currently.”_  
  
Oliver couldn’t blame his mother for misunderstanding. His own mind had been firmly set on the past when he had asked that question. To Diggle the bombing of the Gambit might not matter in the danger of the present, but of course it mattered to mother and son. It had changed their lives, it was still influencing their actions and decisions. To the Queens the sinking of their yacht mattered—but Diggle was right in his assessment. And to The Hood it couldn’t matter either.  
  
“No,” The Hood objected, his changed voice resonating with the control starting to come back to him. “Did Merlyn threaten you and your family recently? Why do you think they are in danger?”  
  
“Malcolm has proven that he’s willing to kill anybody who stands in his way. He has a dangerous acquaintance who does his bidding. I am sure you know him, he uses a bow, too.” Moira reacted to The Hood’s sharp nod with an accepting tip of her head. “That man killed Frank Chan….” There was an audible wavering in her voice when she continued, “Frank hired a killer to get rid of Malcolm and stop the Undertaking. But my son nearly died instead.”  
  
_“Seems like her son has a tendency to get himself into near-death-experiences.”_  
  
Oliver ignored Felicity’s quip, instead he focused on his mother, who straightened up a little, regaining her own cool more and more. “I never gave Malcolm any reason to mistrust me or question my loyalty. He knows that killing my husband made it very clear that he’s not to be crossed. He also showed me that he can destroy those I care about in my different ways—emotionally, economically. I am convinced that he would never expect me to move against him. He feels secure. I learned from my past mistakes. I need to protect those I love, but you,” a haunting expression crept into her eyes, “you can move against him. You can do what I do not dare.”  
  
Never had his mother looked so small to Oliver, but looking at her, seeing her sit behind her desk with her hands tightening around each other, she seemed so lost and helpless. And suddenly it hit him that he had been right before: it was pure desperation making Moira Queen do this, turn to The Hood.  
  
Oliver spent months doubting his mother and questioning her intentions and her ethics, but as he looked at her and sorted everything he had just heard with the things he knew for certain, he realized that she was wanted the exact same thing that urged Oliver on: to right Robert Queen’s wrongs.  
  
But there was one huge difference between Oliver Queen and Moira Queen. While he was driven by revenge and the need to prove himself worthy of living in place of his father, his mother was motivated by guilt, love, and the fear of losing anybody else she cared about.  
  
It was a different form of motivation leading to a very different kind of desperation, but it all rooted in the same origin.  
  
Moira was ready to protect her family at all costs. Things had been set in motion, things that had never been her fault, things she couldn’t control, and she had reacted. But it had all turned bigger and more threatening than she had ever feared and now she was barely keeping her head above the water. She was drowning in the web she had woven, because it was all she could do to fight this: use her contacts, her money, her network. All of this had failed her—and now she was resolving to find a new ally who could do what she was unable to: confront Merlyn directly.  
  
His mother had regained her composure, squared her slumped shoulders. “I will give you all the information I have, I will help you any way I can, but I need you to find those devices and put an end to this. Please,” she said, “help me make this right.”  
  
His grip on his bow had never loosened. His arm was fully stretched and parallel to the ground just like Shado had taught him, the arrow perfectly aimed. For a few more heartbeats he stayed like this, tense and battle ready, then he relaxed his right arm, releasing pressure from the bowstring.  
  
The Hood letting his bow sink was enough affirmation for Moira Queen. She sighed in relief. “Thank you.” She hesitated for another second before she asked, “Will you tell my daughter-in-law about this? Because I know she’ll tell my son and—”  
  
“Your daughter-in-law helped me with some computer issues; she’s not my acquaintance. I don’t owe her an explanation.”  
  
A different kind of relief radiated from Moira. “Good.”  
  
“But I think you do.”  
  
In surprise Moira’s eyes snapped back to him. Within seconds her posture changed. Her defenses were back up and her voice was ice. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”  
  
_“There’s my mother-in-law_ ,” Felicity said into Oliver’s ear. _“I was getting worried.”_  
  
Moira stretched out her right hand. Oliver had noticed that she had held onto something before. Now he saw it, a USB-stick. Slowly he walked toward her. “Everything I know is on here,” Moira explained. “Malcolm’s wife was killed on May 15 th. That’s the day he wants to do it.”  
  
Keeping his head lowered so that his hood covered most of his face, Oliver walked toward his mother, took the USB-stick from her and headed toward the window. Part of him felt like he needed to say something, give her some kind of assurance, consolation, or confirmation, but no words came to him fitting the unaffected stranger he was portraying. There was nothing left for The Hood to say to Moira Queen.  
  
His foot rested on the windowsill when Moira’s voice stopped him. “You have a little more than a week. Please, stop this.”  
  
“I will.”  
  
  
  
**May 5 th, 2013**  
  
Oliver knew a mission impossible when he faced one. Keeping Felicity from going through the information stored on the USB-device was one of those.  
  
After the day he’d had, Oliver didn’t feel like facing the impossible. Not after a day that involved facing people he didn’t trust, that didn’t trust him or that he felt estranged from. Not after a day that involved being confronted with his mother’s inner demons.  
  
He had chosen the wrong day to re-propose to Felicity.  
  
It had been a spontaneous urge that had somehow felt right, necessary, like it couldn’t wait any longer—and now his honest wish for commitment would forever be tied to the day he discovered his father and his mother were part of a conspiracy for mass murder.  
  
That was enough to ruin any day—even this one.  
  
Exhaustion claimed Oliver. The emotional overload rendered him immobile. The salmon ladder was right there, his training dummy, his bow, but he didn’t feel like training, like hitting or shooting anything. For once he felt like sitting here on this chair by Felicity’s desk watching her fingers fly over the keyboard, watching (over) her. She was still wearing the blue gown she’d chosen for Tommy and Laurel’s wedding. The level of elegance looked out of place in the Foundry that was mostly functional—and cold. He had draped his suit jacket over her shoulders to give her a little warmth. A smile and a thank you had been her only reaction before getting lost in her work again.  
  
She was determined to help him keep his promise to stop the Undertaking. Moira’s revelation had shaken Felicity as much as him. Returning to the Foundry, Oliver saw it in her pale blue eyes, heard it in the silence absent of rushed out words, felt it in the way she placed her cold hand on his cheek. The shock spurred Felicity into acting, into searching for any kind of solution with the methods she had at hand. And Oliver let her.  
  
Outside the sun rose, a new day started, but they sat in the Foundry where time didn’t matter as the neon lights provided the same illumination noon to midnight. He sat next to her, his seat swiveled so that he was facing her profile. He watched her work, listened to the constant, calming clicking, and accepted that he was an idiot.  
  
Everything he had believed to be irrevocably true, everything he had believed to be proven by trusting one recorded message he had found by accident was wrong. It had been stupid and short-sighted to think he actually knew the true meaning of his father’s words.  
  
Oliver hadn’t known anything.  
  
He had simply drawn his own conclusions, made up his mind, and followed the killer instinct his experiences had awoken in him—the killer instinct instilled by Slade Wilson, heightened by Amanda Waller, cemented by Anatoly Knyazev. He had made this about killing people, killing so many that they filled countless pages in a notebook.  
  
But this had never been about killing the guilty, this had always been about saving the innocent.  
  
This was about redemption—something that would never have crossed his mind before returning to Starling City.  
  
He had never expected returning home would end with him finding a home. He had never anticipated that he would actually long for redemption, to be worthy of all the good that had come his way. He came back to a family he hadn’t expected, had been faced with issues, emotions, conflicts, and decisions that all came with very personal consequences and brought an intensity with them that shattered walls that had taken five years to construct. Felicity had been the first to sneak past his defenses, leaving him defenseless to her and paving the way for others.  
  
His plan to keep his sister and his mother at arm’s length had evaporated, he had let them in much further than he had ever planned. And he was glad that he had. He loved them. He needed them to be safe—and happy.  
  
If their experiences with Thea had taught him one lesson, it was that physical safety didn’t equal real happiness.  
  
And he wished nothing less for her, for all the women he loved, for all the people he cared about. He wanted to be there for them, help Thea get through rehab and create herself a happy life without all that self-hatred. He needed to make sure his mother wasn’t buried beneath his father’s mistakes, to help her breathe easy again and make it possible for her to stop all those lies, to stop lying and making horrible decisions. He wanted to have an ordinary life with them. He wanted his friends, the people Felicity had paved the way for, to be happy: Diggle, Kristina, Walter, even Tak. He wanted an ordinary life with all of them. He wanted Laurel and Tommy to live happily ever after.  
  
And suddenly it all seemed within reach.  
  
“I know this is a device meant for death and destruction, but its design is really elegant.”  
  
Felicity’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Letting his hand sink from his chin, he looked at her. “The earthquake machine?”

“It’s called a Markov-device. And that’s proof that having a big ego will bite you in the ass. Nobody forced Markov to name that thing after himself, and now his name is connected to something that’s supposed to destroy part of a city. Seems like something nobody wants to be associated with. Which is why I chose Firestorm over Felicity Queen Enterprises…. Okay, I mostly chose not to attach the Queen name in my company. Even though, Tak making jokes about starting up the USS Felicity was kind of awesome. I never told you I’m into _Star Trek_ , did I? That’s probably information I should have withheld ‘til after our second wedding…. Why are you smiling like that?”  
  
“I’m thinking about celebrating my birthday. Nothing fancy, just us and our friends, our family, and a cake.”  
  
Felicity rotated her back friendly chair to face him. “Are you high? Did somebody dose you with Vertigo again?”  
  
He chuckled. “No, all sober.” He got up from his seat. “I’m seeing clearly for the first time in years, Felicity, because I finally know what I need to do: I need to stop the Undertaking. This is righting my father’s wrongs.” He gestured across the room toward the workbench where the notebook lay. “It’s not about crossing names off a list—that’s not honoring him. I was just treating the symptoms while the disease festered. But stopping the Undertaking means stopping the disease.”  
  
Slowly, Felicity got up, too. “Are you saying you want to hang up your hood?”  
  
“Yes.” His answer came immediately and forcefully. “I promised myself that I’d finish the list and be done. I told myself that I needed to earn my happiness, that I needed to prove worthy for…us, for creating a real future with you. But now I finally understand that all my father asked me to do was to stop Merlyn’s plan.”  
  
“Oliver.” Her eyes shining with fondness, she looked up at him, placing her hand flat on his chest above his heart. “You don’t have to prove anything or earn anything.”  
  
“But it feels like I do,” he objected gently, resting his hand above hers. “And it’s close. I’ll stop Merlyn and we can finally live a normal life—without nights spent in this cellar, without jumping off rooftops and being shot at, without you sewing my wounds close or needing to learn self-defense. We can be ordinary, spending our nights on our couch, watching _Star Wars_.”  
  
“Trek,” she corrected. “ _Star Trek_.”

“Or that.” He smiled and brought his hand up to caress her cheek. “I want nothing more than a hood-free life with you.”  
  
“Yeah,” she said, smiling, “That sounds great….” She hesitated a second before adding, “Life with you sounds great. That’s what I want—with or without your hood.” Getting on her tiptoes, she kissed him, gently. Her eyes were searching his face when their lips parted. “You know that, right?”  
  
“I know,” he assured her and there wasn’t the tiniest bit of doubt within him.  
  
“But, of course, I’m all for nobody shooting at you ever again. And I’m also all for watching _Star Trek_ with you. Did you see the new movie? It was released while you were away. The new Captain Kirk is really hot with his—” She tipped her head. Her eyes slowly roamed his face, studying him. “Hm…. Seems like I _do_ have a type.”  
  
Having no idea what she was talking about, Oliver frowned and simply chose to change the topic, causing her to turn serious again. “I’ll do what’s necessary,” he promised, speaking more forcefully. “I’ll stop Merlyn and finish this at all costs. And once I fulfilled the debt I owe my father, I’m done with the hood.” He motioned to her computer screen. “Tell me what you found.”  
  
____________________________________________  
  
  
Felicity ended up telling him one and a half times. Because half-way through her explanation John Diggle walked down the stairs carrying coffee and bagels, proof that the soldier knew them and their anxiety habits too well.  
  
Sitting around Felicity’s desk, the men ate their bagels while she summed up her findings, sipping her coffee. She spared them the details of how the Markov-device worked because she knew that they wouldn’t care—and it was too complicated to explain to somebody who was disinterested. Understanding it had taken even Felicity the better part of an hour and the fact that this worked still completely baffled to her.  
  
Felicity didn’t consider herself a scientist, not in the true sense of the word, but she prided herself of scientific thinking. It was something she was passionate about. Great minds coming up with great ideas holding the potential to change the world was something that excited her on an intellectual level. The first year at MIT – before Cooper and that whole hactivist fiasco and before everything triggered by getting drunk in Las Vegas – had been filled with that excitement, filled with believing in the impossible. She had met Yongtak Chan on her first day in her first class and they had spent the next ten months trying to create artificial intelligence, because they believed themselves to be smarter than everybody else who had ever tried before. It had been amazing, a time full of creation. Whereas that whole hactivism thing had mostly been filled with destroying things (and good sex which had completely blinded Felicity for the reality of things.) Thank God, Tak had knocked at her door when she returned to MIT after losing Jonas. He had sparked her longing to build something again.  
  
All that made her feel weirdly offended that a device invented with good intentions was twisted into a killing machine. The original idea had been to generate electric power by using seismic power. Sure—that was slightly on the crazy side, but not more outrageous than imagining a hypothetical machine able to manipulate symbols on a strip of tape according to a table of rules. The latter had ultimately led to her tablet, so Felicity could never find fault in original, outrageous thinking for the sake of science. But she could despise Merlyn for taking something meant to do good and twisting it into something unrecognizably evil.  
  
Oliver swallowed a well-chewed bite of his bagel. “So, this thing causes vibrations to trigger an earthquake?”  
  
Of course that was his answer to her very heated, minute-long rant about the misuse of science. That’s what you get for going all ethical on the resident vigilante.  
  
Felicity sighed. “Yes.” Because, yes, that was the information that started off her rant.  
  
“Is there any way to find it? Does it produce heat or radiation? Something you can scan for?” Apparently, John wasn’t interested in her moral outrage either.  
  
“No,” Felicity motioned to the nearby computer screen. “I don’t know how Moira got them, but she gave us detailed schematics of how this works. As long as it’s off there’s no way to find it. When they turn it on I can calculate the origin of the vibration using…” Seeing the look on the men’s faces she concluded that sentence with, “math. But I see how that might be a little late since we want to keep Merlyn from actually turning it on.”  
  
“Okay,” Oliver said, “we don’t know where it is—”  
  
“Where they are,” John corrected, “I found two boxes in that warehouse.”  
  
Pursing his lips, Oliver tipped his head to the side before he continued, “Let’s focus on what we do know.” He looked at Felicity, sending her a silent request.  
  
“Okay,” she said, “we know the device can be set for a timed detonation. But it can also be activated by a mobile transmitter. Once that happens, it takes about five minutes, maybe six, until the device is fully functional. It needs to warm up, so to speak. We also know how to deactivate it. Get me to the device and I can render it harmless so that it can never be turned on again—or they can never be turned on again.” She glanced at John. “Since we’re talking about two.”  
  
John looked at her blankly. “Then we got it all covered—apart from the tiny setback that we don’t have any idea where those machines are.”  
  
“Wow,” Felicity looked at him. “Normally I’m responsible for the unhelpful sarcasm.” She blinked. “As evidenced by that sentence.”  
  
Oliver wiped his hands on a napkin. “I’ll find out where they are _tonight_.”  
  
Suspicious, Felicity looked at her husband. “How?”  
  
“I’ll have a very pointed conversation with Malcolm Merlyn.”  
  
“The other archer works for him,” Felicity reminded.  
  
“I know, but there are too many places where Merlyn can hide those devices. Remember the _Gambit_? We never found that. We are running out of time and I’m done avoiding confrontation.”  
  
“What if the other archer sets off the devices?” John reminded.  
  
“I’m sure Merlyn’s holding on to the transmitter.” Oliver sounded absolutely convinced and self-assured. “We’ve spared Malcolm long enough. He has the answers to our few unanswered questions, and it’s time to finish this. He’s our best option to find the earthquake machines.”  
  
Felicity sank back in her seat. “You’ve made up your mind, haven’t you? There’s nothing we can say to stop you.”  
  
She could see it in his eyes and in the way his shoulders squared: he was determined, there was no swaying him. She knew, but she couldn’t let him do this without at least trying. “Oliver, I know you want to be done with this, but we still have another week until we’re really running out of time. We can give ourselves a few more days to—”  
  
“Felicity, this is the only way and you know it. We cannot search the whole city. Pressuring Merlyn into giving up the locations is our best option. We will _not_ turn this into a desperate last minute thing. I will go to Merlyn _tonight_.”  
  
There were quite a few sarcastic remarks dancing on the tip of Felicity’s tongue. She swallowed them all. None would help the situation. Fighting him on this wasn’t helping because she knew she couldn’t sway him. He was absolutely convinced this was his best option, and she had promised to trust his decisions and his abilities. Meeting his eyes, she said. “Okay.” A heartbeat of silence followed. “That’s my official acceptable answer. Please note that I didn’t say ‘great idea’ or ‘have fun’.” Apparently, she hadn’t managed to turn the sarcasm off completely.  
  
“Noted.” Oliver held her gaze for a moment. Motioning to the final, untouched bagel, he said, “You should eat your breakfast. And then we’ll head home and get some sleep. I need to be rested tonight.”  
  
______________________________________________  
  
  
How do ordinary people spent their Sunday evening?  
  
Probably not by sitting in a cold cellar surrounded by vigilante tech in the form of computers, medical equipment, tools, and – oh yeah – arrows. Strangely, to Felicity those surroundings had become ordinary, this was her normal. Oh, she would be fine with not coming here anymore, with her husband only wearing Armani-suits instead of green leather to confront bad guys. She was very fine with Oliver hanging up his hood, because for her it had always been about the man underneath.  
  
But coming to the Foundry had turned into a routine. In fact, this would be a normal Queen Sunday if Oliver were out confronting some guy on his list.  
  
But this wasn’t normal.  
  
Confronting Malcolm Merlyn was too personal to make it ordinary. Oliver had a lot of very personal reasons to despise this man, to wish the worst on him and to deal it out himself. Felicity had reasons to hate Merlyn, Senior as well, equally personal but not as intense as Oliver’s. And she did. She did hate him. But as she sat by her desk, waiting for Oliver to arrive at Merlyn Global’s headquarters (apparently normal CEOs spent their Sunday evenings at their companies—Felicity obviously wasn’t normal in that regard, either), she couldn’t bring herself to feel good about what was about to happen.  
  
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen ou like this.”  
  
John’s calm statement startled her out of her thoughts. He sank down on the seat next to hers. His right arm resting on her desk, he focused on her. “What’s up?”  
  
“I’m not a vengeful person.”  
  
“As hypocritical as it might sound coming from me, that’s a good thing, Felicity.”  
  
“I know that. It’s not like I think I should to be locking myself into a dark room to plan my mastermind vendetta and go all evil genius on the two Merlyns.” She frowned. “I think Tak would help me. Be my witty sidekick. Could be awesome.” She thought for another moment before turning to John. “I feel like I should be all over this, Malcolm Merlyn getting what he deserves. But I’m not…. I just have a really bad feeling about it.”  
  
A small smirk crept onto John’s face. “Yes, but your bad feeling’s not about Merlyn. It’s about Oliver.”  
  
“Tell me I’m overreacting.”  
  
“You’re overreacting.” John leaned toward her. “Oliver has many flaws.” Felicity nodded agreement. “But he knows what he’s doing. You know that. He’s a skilled fighter, a quick thinker, and he’s right when he says that Merlyn’s our best angle.”  
  
“Last time I felt like this he confronted the other archer and ended up half-dead next to a dumpster.”  
  
“It’s only Merlyn, Felicity. A CEO with a bleached smile. A paper pusher. Oliver’s got him.”  
  
Felicity sent John a small smile of thanks. “You’re right. Of course.” The look on her friend’s face told her that her words weren’t as believable as she’d hoped. He squeezed her knee in silent support while Felicity took a deep breath. She was being stupid and unreasonably nervous. She was a bundle of nerves when she had been calm about Oliver confronting Deadshot and that unpredictable hostage taker and—  
  
The com system came to life, cutting through Felicity’s list of The Hood’s past successful fights. Instantly, she turned toward the screen. It was more a gesture than anything. All she saw there was a street map showing the address of Merlyn Global’s headquarters and the green dot symbolizing Oliver right on top of it. (It had to be a green dot. Felicity firmly believed in color coding.) It was a reflex to stare at her screen when there was nothing to see, but it also equaled turning to the speakers on the left and right of the monitor.  
  
John scooted closer, too, his bulky, muscular frame huge next to Felicity. Suddenly, Malcolm Merlyn’s voice sounded through the communication system. _“Very well, I’ll be in touch.…Can I help you?…I wasn’t talking to you.”_ Felicity frowned, glancing at John, trying to make sense of what Merlyn was saying.  
  
The modulated voice of The Hood ended that attempt. _“Malcolm Merlyn. You have failed this city.”_  
  
_“And how have I done that?”_ The tone in Merlyn’s voice made Felicity frown. She leaned toward the speakers and couldn’t help but think that Merlyn was unusually confident for somebody only pushing paper. But Felicity had vocally sparred with this man; he was good at bluffing, at staying calm. Feigning coolness when faced with an arrow aimed at your heart was master bluffing, but Felicity wouldn’t put it that past this cold-hearted man.  
  
_“The Undertaking.”_  
  
The Hood’s voice was always aggressive. Oliver spoke differently when he pulled up the hood, darker, hoarser, even more calculated, more forceful. All of that was amplified by the tech altering his voice. Tonight it was heightened even more. It gave Felicity a hint at her husband’s state of mind. Her eyes snapped to John, sitting next to her unmoving, listening as The Hood rasped, _“It ends now. Where are the devices?”_  
  
_“Safe.”_ Seriously, that was way too cool. Merlyn sounded too self-assured. Without noticing, Felicity bit her lower lip. _“There’s nothing you can do to stop what’s about to happen. And you shouldn’t. This city needs what’s about to happen in order to survive.”_  
  
Felicity’s heart started beating faster. She hadn’t believed Merlyn, Senior to be a rational human being, because no rational human being would come up with the plan to level a city district using a man-made earthquake. That could only be described as crazy, but the level of crazy sounded like it was even higher than Felicity had originally thought.  
  
And Merlyn wasn’t done yet. He was still talking. _“The people who are destroying this city need to be erased from the map.”  
  
_ He sounded so convinced, sure beyond a doubt, and all Felicity could do was shake her head in disbelief. His level of crazy was bursting any known scale. That guy was completely delusional. “Wow,” Felicity whispered. “He’s a crackpot.”  
  
_“Fine,”_ The Hood growled. _“Let’s start with you.”  
  
_ That was a good comeback, Felicity thought, but didn’t get to add an appreciative nod before a tell-tale resonating vibration hit her ears. That was a bowstring. Felicity knew that sound perfectly. It took her an instant to register that the tell-tale groan in pain was missing. Painful groaning was the irrevocable result of a bowstring being released—at least in Felicity’s surprisingly plentiful firsthand knowledge. Instead, there was something like an amused huff. It was a tiny sound, but it was so unexpected that it had the same effect as a canon being fired. Felicity flinched. Her back straight with sudden tautness, her eyes glued to the monitor, the stupid map and the stupid green dot.  
  
_“You know,”_ Merlyn sounded mockingly superior, _“last Christmas I almost killed you. You’re the one who got away. It is very kind of you to come so I could finish what I started. It’s time to end this.”  
  
“Agreed!”_ The Hood growled.  
  
Felicity barely registered it. She also didn’t notice that she was suddenly standing, her chair rolling away from her, shattering against the med table. Understanding had brought her to her feet. “Merlyn’s the other archer.” It was the only logical conclusion and it fell from her lips in a shocked whisper. Her heartbeat sped up even more, making it seem like her heart wanted to jump out of her chest, out of her throat. She felt cold suddenly, the blood rushing in her ears, mixing with the battle sounds transmitted into the Foundry. They were just noises, not making sense to her. She couldn’t dissect them, analyze them. All she could do was stare at the screen and listen to crashes, bangs, shattering. She didn’t know what was happening, but she could make out Oliver in all of this. She could hear him gasp and groan in pain. Her eyes jumped left and right with her tumbling thoughts as she tried to understand. A somewhat rhythmic thudding hit her ears, a forceful thud, and then—silence.  
  
Silence.  
  
Felicity tore her eyes away from the useless screen, fixed them on John to find him sitting stiffly on his chair, worry twisting his face.  
  
_“Let’s find out who you are.”_  
  
“No.” The word fell from Felicity’s lips as her eyes snapped back to the speakers. Merlyn. That was Merlyn’s voice. In her shock she brought both hands to her mouth, not realizing how badly they were trembling.  
  
She didn’t notice John’s body flex next to her. She didn’t hear his urging, “Oliver, come on, man!”  
  
She heard nothing but the voice coming out of the speaker. _“Oh. No,”_ Merlyn whispered in apparent shock. _“Not you.”_  
  
Felicity couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think, she couldn’t move, all she could do was stare at the speakers, fallen quiet. The silence was threatening, heightening her fears, triggering worst case-scenarios that went far beyond finding Oliver unconscious next to a dumpster.  
  
Oliver.  
  
His name echoed through her brain, a pleading chant turning into a desperate prayer for him to do something, give her any kind of signal that he was okay, alive, that he would come back to her. Her silent plea to the man she loved with everything she had – whose smile could brighten her darkest day, whose presence chased her fears away, whose touch made all wrongs turn right – wasn’t answered. Instead there was a loud crack. The green dot disappeared from her screen.


	41. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know blaming the previous cliffhanger on canon isn’t very believable—not when I chose to ignore canon many times before. So, I just have to admit that I liked the idea of adding a new perspective to the canon-fight we saw on screen…. And with that we’ve officially reached the last episode of season one. We’ll see how many chapters I can stretch that one (coughthreecough).
> 
> Thank you for still being here and for all the love you send my way. Thanks to you this is an amazing experience and I am grateful. I know many of you wonder if this will continue on to season two. It won’t. This fic is a season-one rewrite, so the end of it is very near. I also know many are hoping for a season two sequel. I’ll explain more about that once I’ll post the last chapter. I hope you understand that I don’t want to get into it right now.
> 
>  **Albiona**. I cannot stress enough how wonderful you are. You are my Overlord of Awesome.
> 
> Okay. Let’s finally _(finally!)_ get to the beginning of the end and one of the very few iconic canon-scenes I wanted to adopt. I hope you enjoy. Love, Jules.

**May 5 th, 2013**  
  
Needles piercing into his skin startled him into awareness. **  
  
** He gasped for air and realized that the only thing stinging his skin was cold. Ice water ran down his head, trailed down his spine and his bare chest. The sudden pain ripping him into awareness vanished as soon as it came, but left behind the realization that he had a problem. Shaking his head, causing droplets of water to fly through the air, he tried to focus.  
  
His arms were forced up, stretched out painfully above him. Iron bonds were tight around his wrist and connected to a long iron chain wrapped over a pipe far above him. He should probably be thankful that his feet touched the ground. He wasn’t pulled up so far that his weight rested on his tied hands. That had happened in Russia once and ended with a broken left wrist.  
  
Blinking the memory away, he looked around. The room was bare, cement, the ceiling high. A warehouse of some kind, he reasoned, and didn’t get any further than that as Malcolm Merlyn entered the room. He sauntered toward Oliver, radiating ease and self-assuredness, looking impeccable in a suit—even the pocket-square was in place. That and the fact that Merlyn held Oliver’s hood in his fist seemed like a proverbial slap in the face, adding a different kind of stinging than the actual hits Merlyn had landed. Oliver could feel the throbbing where Merlyn’s fist had connected with his cheek, he could feel the cut oozing blood and the crust of dried blood beneath his nose that the bucket of water thrown at him hadn’t managed to wash away. He could feel the pain in his stomach, thanks to Merlyn’s relentless kicks against his liver.  
  
“I hope I didn’t hurt you.”  
  
Hearing that sentence made Oliver’s blood boil. It wasn’t the spoken words that infuriated him but the way they were uttered: there was nothing but sincerity in Merlyn’s voice. Oliver could have handled this better if Merlyn were mocking him, if he used that tone of sarcastic superiority he had thrown Oliver’s way after catching the arrow aimed at his throat. **  
  
** That had been before Malcom Merlyn found out who was underneath the hood.  
  
Now that he knew, he treated Oliver like an ally. He gave Oliver the same tone of concern he used when he tried to make nice with Tommy. It made Oliver sick; it made him hate losing against this bastard even more.  
  
Slowly walking around the chained up man, Merlyn continued talking, “After all, I saved your life after you saved mine during the Humanitarian Award Ceremony. I wouldn’t want my efforts to be in vain.”  
  
Oliver stared stoically ahead. He didn’t twist his body in his shackles, didn’t try to follow the wandering man with his eyes. He wished he had Felicity’s ability to distance himself from his emotions in moments like these, but it was moments like these when all he could focus on were the emotions tearing at him. Oliver knew that his face gave away how much he despised Merlyn as the CEO stopped in front of him.  
  
“If only I knew how you’ve been spending your nights,” Merlyn said, sounding serious. “My hope is that I can explain everything to you and make you understand.”  
  
“You killed my father!” Oliver didn’t have it in him to stay calm, keep his cool. All the hatred he felt for the man opposite him mixed with the fury at himself. He loathed that he’d lost against Merlyn _again_ , that he didn’t stand a chance against him, that he hadn’t even considered Merlyn being the other archer. It made Oliver’s temper flare. Rage twisted his features as he leaned toward Merlyn, the chains rattling and keeping him from getting too close. “You _sentenced_ me to five years on that island! To five years of HELL!”  
  
“I am truly sorry for what happened to you.”  
  
Merlyn appeared completely unfazed.  
  
That made it even worse.  
  
“You know,” Malcolm said, “I lost people, too.”  
  
“Yeah.” Oliver said, forcing himself to ignore the negativity tearing at his insides. He struggled to calm himself down at least a little bit because he knew he couldn’t be losing it completely while Merlyn was all measured calm. “Your wife.” **  
  
** “Yes. I lost the love of my life.” Unmoving, Merlyn stood in front of the man hanging in his shackles, fixing him with his unwavering eyes. “It’s nothing you ever recover from—as I am sure you can imagine. My wife was taken from me—”  
  
“You took my wife, too,” Oliver spat at him. “You kidnapped her.” **  
  
** “And you think that’s the same?!” Merlyn asked evenly. “You think that compares to waking up to a voicemail and being forced to listen to your wife’s last minutes? Listening to her dying, begging for help? To her desperate fear of dying alone? She bled out on the pavement while people passed, doing nothing. They were there, but they _chose_ to let her die.”  
  
Merlyn hadn’t raised his voiced, hadn’t yelled or even spoken heatedly. Still, his calm demeanor couldn’t hide the amount of hate attached to each word. It practically leaked from Merlyn, oozing all around him. That made it impossible for Oliver to feel compassion. “And where were you while she died?” he mocked. “Sleeping? Don’t pin your guilt o—”  
  
“THEY WERE THERE!” Malcolm snapped within a heartbeat. His sudden yell echoed through the cold room. It was an eruption that went as quickly as it’d come. “They will pay for it.” There was pungency in his voice as he glared at Oliver. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t do anything for your wife! I saw the recording of _The Hood_ ,” he snarled the name, “entering a building in Bludhaven. I saw how _you_ fought her kidnappers. I should have known it was you back then. That was personal. So, don’t tell me you wouldn’t avenge her.”  
  
“Those men had her! They weren’t innocent bystanders!” Why was he explaining himself to Malcolm Merlyn? He didn’t have to defend his actions to the lunatic. Oliver knew, but couldn’t stop. “And I know that my wife doesn’t want me to kill in her name.” Oliver made himself meet Merlyn’s eyes and asked in an angry challenge, “Do you really think you’re honoring Tommy’s mother by destroying the Glades?”  
  
Malcolm raised his hand, the green cloth in his fist. “As surely as you believe you’re honoring your father with this hood.” He took a deep breath and when he exhaled he seemed perfectly collected again. “Not a day goes by that I don’t miss your father.”  
  
Oliver loathed that man with everything he had. Gritting his teeth, he forced out, “You’ll see him soon.”  
  
The threat bounced off the other archer. “You can’t beat me, Oliver.” It was a simple statement and it hit home more than anything else Merlyn said in the previous minutes. “Yes, you’re younger. You’re faster. But you always seem to come up short against me. Want to know why? Because you don’t know what you’re fighting for, what you’re willing to sacrifice. But I do. No one can stop what’s about to come. Not even the vigilante.” Letting the hood drop to the ground, Malcolm Merlyn turned around and walked out of the room. **  
  
** His blood pulsed in Oliver’s ears, pumped by his heavily beating heart. Straightening up, he reduced the pressure on his hands, limited the way the metal cuffs cut into his skin. He needed a moment to just breathe. Inhaling measuredly, he let his eyes travel the room, but he had already seen in all. Glancing up, he followed the chain resting onto a metal pipe far above him. He gave an experimental tug and came to the conclusion that he could break the thing if he added the right amount of force.  
  
Standing there, he gave himself another few minutes. Nobody came, but he knew he wasn’t alone. Merlyn hadn’t been the one drenching him in ice water and the billionaire had more than enough money to pay people to participate in his horrible plan. Oliver only hoped Merlyn had left by now because, if he hadn’t, Oliver’s escape plan would fail. The metal cutting into his skin, the throbbing in his face, the pain in his stomach, and the bruises on his ego were too painful to deny that truth.  
  
Deciding he had waited long enough, Oliver bent his knees and jumped. Closing his hands around the chain, he pulled himself up. The muscles in his arms ached and protested, starting to shake almost instantly. Climbing up this chain shouldn’t be so hard, but it was. The previous fight weighed his body down. He grunted from the exertion and forced himself to pull himself higher and higher, bringing his legs up to shift his weight better. Finally, he decided he was high enough. He wouldn’t look down, wouldn’t check how far the ground was below him. That visual wasn’t necessary to confirm that this would hurt. He closed his eyes for a heartbeat, steeling himself to do what needed to be done. Flexing his arms, he brought his body up and brought his whole weight down on the metal pipe. The chains rattled, the pipe clanked, the noise echoed through the huge room, alerting whoever was close. That spurred Oliver to flex his muscles again and again—the pipe broke on the third try.  
  
Oliver landed on his side. He had been right: it hurt like hell. All air was knocked out of him and he curled his body together in an effort to breathe through the pain. But he knew he didn’t have time to waste. He forced himself to his feet, already hearing the first man approach from Oliver’s right. Using the chains still attached to his wrists, Oliver slapped the machine gun out of the guard’s hands. Heavy steps sounding from his left, from where Merlyn had disappeared, told Oliver somebody else was coming and he knew he had to be efficient about this: his first opponent was dead within seconds. Adrenaline let Oliver ignore the protest his body sent him in various forms as he hurried to the wall next to the door. Reaching it just in time, Oliver attacked his second opponent from behind, ending him quickly. The body sagged to the cement floor and Oliver leaned over him, checking his pockets in a frantic search for keys. He needed to get rid of these shackles, he needed his hands free to fight properly. Who knew how many more guards were around.  
  
That thought had barely entered Oliver’s brain when he felt somebody else coming. He was approaching quietly and slowly. Oliver looked up one second too late, just to stare down the barrel of a gun. Only one thought flashed through his brain, _That’s it._  
  
A gunshot boomed through the tall room, followed by a thud as a heavy body fell to the ground. Oliver didn’t pay attention to the body. All he could see was John Diggle as the guard sank down. He stared at his partner, who had popped out of nowhere, who stood there with his gun raised, who had killed the man about to kill Oliver.  
  
Diggle’s eyes hinted at the inner turmoil within him, but his voice was surprisingly calm as he said, “I take back every joke I ever made about you being whipped.” He pushed the gun back into the waistband of his pants. “Thank God Felicity forced you to put a tracking devise in your boot.”  
  
Staring at his friend, all Oliver could do was breathe—feeling relieved that he was still able to.  
  
_________________________________________________  
  
  
You could never go wrong with the alphabet. It was a steady fixture you could count on, full of order, consistency, and reliability. It literally was as easy as ABC; and even though Felicity was more a girl for numbers than letters, she had always appreciated the organizational strategy of alphabetizing.  
  
Doripenem, Ephedrine, Epinephrine…. Scanning the assembled vials, her eyes fell on a tube that seemed somehow out of place in the midst of this very elaborate medicine chest. She reached for the Aspirin and placed it left of the Doripenem in the opened drawer she was looking at, because, you know, _A_.  
  
Standing alone in the Foundry, she worked methodically, rearranging the medical supplies as silence surrounded her. It seemed like the best thing she could do right now, optimizing their organization to make things easier in times of emergency. Putting the alphabet to good use was a helpful thing, a productive action. Staring at her phone, willing it to ring, wasn’t. Mentally going through the alphabet, putting Oxycodone last and Amoxicillin first, was something useful she could focus on. What she couldn’t focus on was the fact that John had left the Foundry after they had traced Oliver’s location and found him in a warehouse by the docks. (Why was it always the docks?) More than half an hour had passed since then without any word from John or Oliver—and she really, really couldn’t think about that and all the horrible possibilities it brought along with it. **  
  
** Involuntarily, her eyes snapped to her phone resting on the med table, dark, silent, strangely threatening. Feeling the need to make sure that she hadn’t missed a call (because that was a real possibility and not just wishful thinking on her part), she reached for her phone.  
  
She hadn’t missed a call.  
  
But now she knew John had been gone for forty-one minutes.  
  
Quickly, she set the phone back and opened the second drawer of the cabinet filled with dressing material. Seeing the gauze – swabs, bandages, compresses – the memories of using them flashed through her. Cleaning cuts, treating wounds, wiping away blood—in the previous months Felicity had become quite practiced. It was a skill she could have done without. Hearing Oliver hiss in pain, knowing he was suppressing all other sounds of agony, was something she wished she didn’t know as well as she did. But as she stood there staring at the assembled first aid supplies, it all crashed down on her: the pained grunts, the sight of blood seeping from him, the feeling of bringing a needle through his skin to sew a bullet hole closed.  
  
A shudder quaked through her body and all she could do was slam the drawer shut with a bang. **  
  
** Forcefully turning around, she stepped away from the cabinet, from the med table, as she brought her shaking hands to her forehead. She hadn’t wanted to go there, but here she was—way too far in her own head. She couldn’t think these things, couldn’t contemplate them. Oliver was _okay_. He was. He had to be, because everything else was impossible. Everything else couldn’t be.  
  
_Oliver is okay_. **  
  
** She repeated it like a mantra. That tactic wasn’t as successful as her distraction by alphabet because it didn’t stop another memory from popping up, it couldn’t keep the visual of Oliver lying in a hospital bed at bay, beaten and bruised after his first run-in with Malcolm Merlyn, aka the other archer. So much had happened since then. Not only had she made sure she knew every answer to everything hospital questioning sheets might ask her (Oliver weighed 180 pounds, was allergic to nothing but doctors, which meant that he didn’t have a physician), but more importantly their whole relationship had only started after that evening. Everything she had felt for him back then, everything she had known back then, it was nothing compared to how she felt now, what she knew now. Back then the idea of losing Oliver had seemed terrifying—it was completely unthinkable now.

And it didn’t need to be thought about.  
  
Because: _Oliver is okay_. **  
  
** Pacing between her desk and the med table, Felicity shook her hands out, trying to calm herself down. She shouldn’t have let John go alone. She should have said something when John had said “Wait here!” and ran out of the Foundry. But she hadn’t been able to do anything but watch him leave, watch him run to get to Oliver as quickly as possible. She hadn’t even been able to open her mouth and say the one thought that had occupied her mind back then: please, bring him back to me.  
  
_Oliver is okay_.  
  
Tilting her head back, she stared at the ceiling and took a deep breath. Another calming effort that failed. She continued pacing. She was restless and, yes, she was scared—beyond scared. But she forced herself not to act on it, to suppress the fear, to not recall the audio transmission of the fight when she had sat helpless and frozen. She forced herself not to think about the sound of flesh hitting flesh and the grunts of pain—  
  
The ringing of her cellphone cut into her frantic thoughts. She hurried to the med table and saw John’s picture on the display. Her heart drummed in her chest as she answered, rushing out, “Is he okay?”  
  
“I’m okay.” **  
  
** “Oliver.” Hearing his voice – even though the weakness of it was a clear sign that he wasn’t really, totally okay – made her breath hitch in her throat. “Thank God.” She searched her brain for something more to say, anything to tell him, but she suddenly felt light-headed in a way that robbed her of the ability to speak.  
  
“Hey,” he said into the sudden silence. “I’m fine.”  
  
The cough hitting her ears at the end of that statement told her that he was playing things down for her benefit. The worry rushed back to her and along with it came her ability to form words. “My wife senses are tingling and I know you’re not fine.”  
  
“I’m mostly fine.” He sighed. “Please, don’t worry. We’re on our way. We’ll be in the Foundry in fifteen minutes.”  
  
Exactly thirteen minutes after ending the call, Felicity found out what Oliver’s definition of “mostly fine” was. The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs stopped her relentless pacing. She turned toward the rattling metal and froze, watching Oliver head down the stairs, noticing how carefully he moved. But he was upright, walking on his own, managing the stairs relatively easily, and all of that was much, much better than the possibilities her brain had spewed out. Relief flooded her. She crossed the distance and threw her arms around him, nearly crashing into him. Feeling the shaky breath she forced out of him in response, she loosened her hold on him instantly, ready to let go and apologize for being so careless and causing him pain, but he didn’t let her go. Instead, he brought his arms around her, holding her to his body, hugging her tightly.  
  
“I’m okay,” he whispered, assuring her again.  
  
Felicity nodded against him. Feeling him close, the strength with which he held her and his warmth caused all remaining fears to seep from her. Gently tracing her nose up and down his neck, she breathed in his scent. She placed a kiss on his neck and finally let go. She looked at him, studied his bruised and tired face covered with dried blood. “Good thing I alphabetized the medical supplies.”  
  
Oliver frowned at her but followed her toward the med table. It told her a lot about the state he was in when he sat down on it without the barest complaint. She pulled open the drawer to reach for the medical alcohol—and stopped mid-movement. Her eyes scanned the sorted supplies and she couldn’t believe what she saw there.  
  
She had messed her alphabetizing up. She had put Amoxicillin first and alcohol second.  
  
Staring at the labels of the vials, she felt like she’d been slapped in the face. The realization was shattering as the events of the last hour crashed down on her. An inner tension had kept her going, had made her do something, anything, but that tension evaporated in the time needed to realize that L came before M. Her hand hovering in mid-air started to shake. She had pulled herself together, had functioned, had struggled against self-destruction by blind action-ism (aka, doing for the sake of doing), but now that he sat next to her, mostly fine, she was coming back to her senses. Reality brought tears to her eyes. She fought not to let them fall.  
  
“Felicity.”  
  
Oliver’s gentle voice broke her fixation. She blinked and the first tear trailed down her cheek. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice hoarse with unshed tears, “I need a moment.”  
  
He held his hand out. “Come here.” It was a soft request she couldn’t not follow. Placing her hand in his, she let him gently tug her to him. Moving between his legs, standing in front of him, she snuggled into his embrace, his arms wrapping around her. Silent tears trailed down her cheeks. She closed her eyes and gave herself a moment to get lost in feeling him, in hearing his heartbeat, in the comforting way his hand rubbed her back, in his scent surrounding her. “I’m so glad you’re mostly okay,” she whispered. **  
  
** He kissed the top of her head and held her tightly in a content silence.  
  
Finally John’s voice sounded from behind her. “Okay, I increased security at the mansion. I sent Weyman and Ükül over.”  
  
“Thank you,” Oliver said as Felicity let go of him for the second time.  
  
She stood on his left while John moved to his right. Crossing his arms over his chest, he towered over Oliver, “Okay, what happened?”  
  
Felicity heard the question John really asked: why are you still alive? She sat down next to Oliver, placing her hand on his back, needing the connection and knowing that she couldn’t focus on cleaning the nasty cut on his cheekbone (it covered the fading bruise he had brought home from Tommy’s bachelor party).  
  
Oliver sighed. “Malcolm didn’t expect me to be under the hood. Which is only fair, because… how could we not consider that he’s the other archer?”  
  
Anger laced Oliver’s voice and hearing it managed to calm Felicity—it was worrying, but she preferred angry Oliver very much to sighing Oliver. At least the latter resembled some kind of normal. It revealed the fight within Oliver and that his will wasn’t broken.  
  
John ignored the question and instead asked one of his own, “What does that mean? He spared your life because you’re Oliver Queen?”  
  
Oliver’s face twisted as he pursed his locked lips. “He doesn’t consider me a threat. Said nobody could stop what’s about to happen.”  
  
The two men shared a long look filled with negativity Felicity hated.  
  
Oliver shook his head in aggravation. “He wanted me to support his plan. Told me about why the people in the Glades deserved to die. He’s completely insane.”  
  
“Yeah,” Felicity huffed, “no kidding.”  
  
“So?” Diggle asked. “What now?”  
  
That brought Felicity to her feet, made her jump off the med table. “Now, I’ll clean the cut and then we’ll head home.”  
  
“Fe—”  
  
“No,” she cut him off, “Merlyn thinks he can’t be stopped. That doesn’t sound like he’ll snap into action tonight. He’ll stick to his timeline. You’re hurt and you need rest. You can’t do anything like this anyway.”  
  
“Fel—” **  
  
** “NO! John, tell him that I’m right.”  
  
John gave up his defensive stance, his arms falling to his sides. “Felicity’s right. I think we all need some rest. Nobody of us is in the right headspace to go toe to toe with Merlyn.” Again, the two men shared a meaningful look. It spurred Felicity into action. “I’ll get some warm water. Let’s clean you up.” She turned to him. “But first….” Curling her hand into a fist, she brought it down on Oliver’s upper arm. She didn’t put much force behind it. It was more a gesture than anything, there really was no need to inflict more pain.  
  
Still, Oliver pressed his lips together and inhaled sharply. His face scrunched up before he added an agreeing nod. “Your technique’s improving.”  
  
Felicity glared at him. “Just so you know: that means you’re giving me too many reasons to hit you.”  
  
______________________________________________  
  
  
His bones felt like they were made of lead. Invisible weights turned any movement into a significant effort. Utter exhaustion claimed him and he knew that Felicity had been right to force him to go home with her.  
  
He knew he wasn’t in any condition to fight, much less to win a fight against a man who had already beaten him twice.  
  
A small voice whispered in the back of Oliver’s mind, telling him that not even the security guards filling this house could keep Merlyn from getting to him, to Felicity. It was reckless to simply lay down and act as if nothing was wrong, but he would, for Felicity’s sake. He would lay down until she fell asleep and then he would get back up, keep guard. He knew, despite the tiredness numbing him, that he wouldn’t find sleep anyway.  
  
The threat was too real to surrender to unconsciousness. The threat was too huge to leave Felicity defenseless.  
  
In one fluent motion, he pulled his t-shirt over his head and threw it into the clothes basket in the corner. He turned toward the bed when a gasp stopped him in his tracks. His eyes fell to Felicity. She sat in the bed, the covers already draped over her legs, her hand frozen on the frames of her glasses. Setting her glasses on her nightstand was always her last action of the day, but now she left them on her nose and instead crawled over the mattress toward him. “God,” she said softly. “Are you sure you don’t need to see a doctor?”  
  
Her eyes were glued to his abdomen. He withstood the urge to glance down at it himself. He was pretty sure Merlyn’s kicks had left visible marks. Felicity had seen a lot of bruises on his body, but seeing these rattled her. He found the worry in her eyes, heard it in her voice. She was shaken and it was his job to ground her again. He couldn’t let this matter. “Yes,” he answered, “I’m fine.”  
  
“It doesn’t look fine,” Felicity objected and brought her right hand up to touch his stomach, but he stepped away before she could. “Oliver.” She made his name sound like a heavy sigh. “The bruising’s purple. You know me: I love purple, but it’s really not a good look for you. Especially when it’s nearly black.”

“It’s nothing,” he dismissed and pushed his pants down.  
  
“I’d feel better if we went to a hospital. Or to RQM. I know Tina’s working tonight.”  
  
Deliberately turning away from her, avoiding looking anywhere near her general direction, he carefully placed his pants over the chair in the corner. “And tell her I had another accident on my bike?” He couldn’t deal with his wife fussing over him. She needed to just let this go, snuggle under the covers and fall asleep. “That’s hardly believable and really not necessary.” Trying to stress the latter, he repeated his mantra for the night. “I’m okay. This looks worse than it is.”  
  
“It looks really bad. What if the bruises are a sign of internal bleeding?”  
  
Trying to cling to his calm he gave her a fake laugh. “Internal bleeding?! No.”  
  
“How can you be so sure? We—”  
  
She wanted to say more, but he couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t let her touch his bruises or even mention them, he couldn’t let her point this out to him, because he honestly couldn’t analyze his wounds. Everything that had happened in the last hours was weighing him down enough as it was, he didn’t need her perspective on this to drag him down further.  
  
“Felicity, I know what internal bleeding feels like. Believe me, I wouldn’t be standing here if I was bleeding internally.”  
  
“Wow, that’s a worrying knowledge to have. Let me tell you: that’s not as comforting as you probably believe it to be.” She sighed. “It’s just—” **  
  
** “Just WHAT?!” He whipped around to face her, the anger that had been collecting inside him, drop by drop, spilled. He felt strangely attacked, backed into a corner, and he was fed up with this conversation. Right now he was even fed up with her. “I’m telling you: I’m FINE.” He glared at her, daring her to object. His heartbeat was fast, heavy, his jaw was clenching. “Didn’t you tell me that you were done being the overly worried wife?!” He took a step toward her. “Then be DONE with it.”  
  
“Oliver—”  
  
He threw his hands up, angry. “Can’t you just drop it?!” His statement was almost a shout. “DROP IT! Your overbearing protectiveness is suffocating!”  
  
“Oh,” she raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms in front of her chest to state calmly, “that’s rich coming from you.”  
  
His breathing heavy, he stared at her, refusing to feel caught by her remark, but failing. Deep down, he knew attacking her wasn’t helpful. It was also wrong and unfair. She didn’t deserve his attitude, didn’t deserve being confronted with his bad mood after having had a… difficult evening herself. Coming back to the Foundry, Oliver had seen how shaken Felicity was, had felt it in the way she had thrown herself at him for an overly tight hug, had heard it in her breathing, coming out in heavy puffs. He knew and he really didn’t need her to tell him—but knowing her, he knew that she would anyway.  
  
Looking up at him, she sat on their bed in just her panties and a tank top, her legs tucked under her, her blonde, freshly brushed hair flowing around her face. Her eyes sent him a silent challenge as she spoke, not raising her voice. “I’m sorry if I’m a little less cool tonight, but I was afraid I’d _lost_ you.” Her eyes softened after that sentence. She had to swallow before continuing. “I was forced to listen to your fight and I thought you were… defeated.”  
  
“I WAS!” The yell fell from his lips. “I _was_ defeated, Felicity. Merlyn wiped the floor with me.”  
  
And there it was, the main reason why he couldn’t stand being confronted with Felicity’s worries, why he couldn’t bare her fussing over him: it just made him feel his defeat even more.  
  
And defeated he had been.  
  
He hadn’t stood a chance, rendered unconscious in under two minutes. Oliver should have died tonight. His own skill wasn’t the reason he could climb into bed with Felicity. That was because of other people: Diggle coming to his rescue and Merlyn feeling superior.  
  
Malcolm Merlyn had _chosen_ to let Oliver Queen live.  
  
Merlyn’s mercy felt like mockery.  
  
All anger left Oliver, causing his shoulders to sag, his eyes to drop to the soft carpet under his bare feet, and his index finger to find his thumb. “Merlyn’s right not to consider me a real threat,” he whispered.  
  
“Oliver,” she said softly. He heard her move on the mattress but couldn’t bring himself to look at her. “He caught you by surprise. You didn’t expect Merlyn to be able to fight like that. I mean, none of us did.”  
  
He shook his head, rejecting her words. They were meant to be comforting, but they just weren’t. They weren’t even remotely believable. His first fight with Merlyn, back in December when he had known that somebody who was a legitimate archer was waiting for him, was proof enough that Merlyn had more going for him that the element of surprise. The bruises on his stomach, the throbbing in his jaw, his aching muscles told him that he didn’t stand a chance.  
  
He had been bested _twice_ and there was absolutely no indication that a third fight would play out any differently. **  
  
** The feeling of defeat was overwhelming—and Felicity’s caring only increased it.  
  
He knew she didn’t mean to, she meant well, but her pointing at his bruises only drove home the fact that he was in way over his head, that righting his father’s wrong wasn’t as easy as he had thought. Doing that was nowhere near his depth, it was way out of reach and the future he had already dared to dream up along with it.  
  
With that thought he took his eyes off the floor and placed them on Felicity, still kneeling on the bed. Her blue eyes were soft, filled with caring, compassion, support—and love. And suddenly the truth hit him: she was his happy ever after—and he was a fool to believe living happily ever after was possible for him.  
  
What was he even doing? Thinking about his birthday? Planning a wedding? Dreaming up children in a house with a backyard? As if The Hood could end up in a fantasy family life with a white picket fence. Training in a cellar, jumping over rooftops, avoiding bullets, dying in an abandoned warehouse—those were possible futures for him. That was all a guy who attacked his wife for caring deserved. He had thought he could earn it, earn himself a good, happy life, but he didn’t know how. He didn’t think it was possible anymore.  
  
“I don’t think I can stop him.”  
  
His confession was the barest whisper, but he might as well have shouted it. Like thunder his admission cut through the room and Oliver managed to shock himself with it. Within a second, defeat overpowered him. The last traces of anger, the familiar companion he had grown so used to, vanished completely. Instead, pain took over. Oliver tried to fight, tried to keep it together, but he made the mistake of meeting Felicity’s eyes. They were filled with gentle compassion. She held her right hand out to him.  
  
A tear slipped out of his eye and as soon as the first had fallen more followed. Tears of desperation streamed down his face as he stepped to Felicity, joining her on the bed and letting her engulf him in her arms. She wrapped them around his head, cradling him to her while he buried his face against her chest.  
  
It had been many years since he has last cried like that, unable to stop, sobbing until the breath hitched in his throat. But in the comfort of his home, in the embrace of the woman he loved and trusted, he let himself crumble and fall apart. He cried for everything he was and everything he wasn’t, for everything that wasn’t and couldn’t be. After some time, they shifted on the bed. Lying on the soft mattress, Oliver buried his head against her stomach. Her arms were around him, her fingers massaging his scalp, whispering soothing words to him, promising him to help him find a way, assuring him of her unwavering support. He let them wrap around him and relaxed in the warm cocoon of her love until his worried mind slowed down and he did what he had very much not wanted to do—he fell asleep.  
  
  
  
**May 6 th, 2013**  
  
Oliver had granted himself a night of weakness, one hour of losing it, but he had woken up to a new day and, today, he had to be strong.  
  
Giving up wasn’t an option.  
  
He wasn’t that guy anymore. He didn’t run away, he didn’t quit. He had to do this. **  
  
** Turning off the water, he stepped out of the shower, feeling like he had washed away yesterday’s frailty—even if his eyes burned from all the crying he had done last night. He carefully dried himself off, trying not to anger his bruises, which were not as bad as they looked, but also not as meaningless as he wanted them to be. The huge mirror had fogged, sparing him his own reflection.  
  
Quickly, Oliver reached for his toothbrush and the toothpaste. There were days when he gave himself a few seconds to take in the sight of the two toothbrushes standing next to each other. It was stupid, irrational, and cheesy, but it made him smile. It came with a memory he cherished because it symbolized taking a chance, following his heart, and making the best decision ever in the process.  
  
Today he couldn’t look at them.  
  
Methodically, he brushed his teeth, dropped his toothbrush back into the mug unceremoniously, and left the bathroom to get dressed. While the hot water had splashed onto his head and run down his body, Oliver had made the decision to do something he had never done before: he would ask for help, get somebody else involved, and be ready to let him take over.  
  
The soft gurgling of the coffeemaker welcomed him when he stepped into the main room. Felicity stood by the kitchen counter, taking a coffee mug out of the cupboard. Her eyes moved to him. “Good morning,” she greeted softly.  
  
“Morning,” he answered and went over to peck her. “I’m sorry about last night.” And he was: he was sorry for blowing off at her, but even sorrier for breaking down like that and throwing all his fears and frustrations at her.  
  
She placed her hand on his arm, making him look at her, and he saw in her eyes that she understood every single thing he was sorry for. A small smile danced around the corners of her mouth as she said, “I’m not.” It was a calm statement, filled with sincerity. “I think last night was long overdue.” Her hand closed around his arm. “I love you.”  
  
Standing in their kitchen with bare feet, only reaching his shoulders without her heels, Felicity had to tilt her head back a little more than usual. He glanced down at her and brought his hand up to brush its back against her cheek, letting his thumb trace her jawline. The words he wanted to say were stuck in his throat. He couldn’t get them out, wasn’t in the right headspace to say them, because they would tear down the makeshift barricades he had put up to keep at bay the emotional overflow that had washed him away last night.  
  
The soft smile on her face told him she understood and that he didn’t have to tell her for her to know. That nearly was enough to make the barriers collapse again. He had to swallow.  
  
“What’s your plan?” She asked with a certainty, telling him she knew he had one.  
  
And she was right. “What everyone does when they need help.”  
  
Remembrance washed over her face and she completed the sentence for him. “Call a cop.” She nodded. “Sounds like a good plan.”  
  
“I’ll do that from the Foundry,” he informed her. “Can Digg drive you to work?”  
  
She hesitated for the barest moment. “Of course.” She got on her tiptoes and kissed him, gently, softly, touching her lips to his for long seconds. Her face stayed close to his when she said, “I know you need space. And that’s okay. But expect me to come to the Foundry later to help you with _whatever_ , whether you want it or not.”  
  
Now it was him reacting with hesitation. He pressed his lips together and gave her a jerk of his head. “Okay.” He kissed her once more—and fled their apartment.  
  
____________________________________________  
  
  
Desperate situations called for desperate measures.  
  
Calling Detective Lance was an act of pure desperation.  
  
Turning to the man who wanted The Hood caught and locked away most, the man who had gone after Felicity in the process, was all Oliver had left. It was a last resort. But despite everything, Oliver knew that Quentin Lance cared about his city, about the people in it. The detective would never stand by and let a catastrophe happen. He had means at his disposal that could make a difference, could make _the_ difference that Oliver couldn’t.  
  
The Foundry lay in silence around Oliver. It was nine on a Monday morning—and since that wasn’t a time to party, the club above was empty, its dance floor, bars, and DJ-stand abandoned. Taking one last deep breath, Oliver reached for the Hood-Phone and called Lance.  
  
The detective answered after the second ring. Annoyed sarcasm hit Oliver’s ear, “Didn’t expect you to call again after our last talk—but I should have known I wouldn’t be so lucky.”  
  
Oliver wasn’t in the mood. “Malcolm Merlyn plans to level the Glades with a manmade earthquake using technology from Unidac Industries.”  
  
A whole lot of nothing was Lance’s first reaction. Oliver couldn’t blame him. What could you say to something like that? It sounded unbelievable, insane, like a sick joke. It was all of that—and yet the absolute truth. **  
  
** Oliver was about to stress that when the detective found his voice back; it sounded disbelieving. “What?” He chuckled. “Now you’re just trying to have some fun with me.”  
  
“You don’t know me, Detective, but this is not my idea of fun,” Oliver assured and added a moment of silence to let that sink in. “I was informed that Merlyn wants to do it on the 15th, on the anniversary of his wife’s death, but he might have moved his timetable up.”  
  
“Why would he do that?” Lance asked—and Oliver couldn’t help but feel hopeful that was a sign of the detective believing him.  
  
“Because he knows I know.” Oliver closed his eyes and hurried to move the conversation along, away from the question how The Hood could know and still do nothing but call the police. “You need to evacuate the Glades, get as many people to safety as you can.” Oliver’s voice turned more haunting—and he just hoped that didn’t get lost in the changed version of his voice hitting Lance’s ear. “Whatever you think of me, Detective, please, believe this: lives depend on it. The lives of innocent people. And, be warned, Malcolm Merlyn is a very, very dangerous man.”  
  
Not letting Lance get one more word in, Oliver ended the call and let the phone drop to the workbench carelessly. His hands found his forehead, moved over his face with the helplessness that collected inside him. He couldn’t believe what he had just done, couldn’t believe he had handed some of the power over to Detective Quentin Lance without knowing what Lance would do with it.  
  
His face twisting with the infuriated sadness collecting inside him, he grabbed the first thing that lay on the workbench. He threw the screwdriver across the room—and changed its direction in the last moment, sending it past Felicity’s setup of computer hardware and against the nearest wall to leave a dent. Staring at the screwdriver on the floor, Oliver felt bile crawl up his throat. He was sick of himself, sickened by this useless act of helpless rage that had early ended with him destroying something that was very much Felicity’s and that should be _off limits_. He had been ready to turn something Felicity held dear into useless junk.  
  
Junk—just like his favorite bow. Merlyn had destroyed it during the fight, shattered and broken, left behind at Merlyn Global, probably thrown out by now.  
  
That thought forced Oliver to move, to race up the stairs and get out of there. He couldn’t follow this train of thought, because subconsciously he already knew where that would end—and he didn’t want to go there, he couldn’t.  
  
Following an inner urge, he hurried to his bike. With screeching tires he drove off, speeding through the streets of Starling City that passed him by like a blur. He drove too fast, he drove recklessly—both made sure that he kept his focus on the traffic surrounding him and allowed him to suppress all thoughts juggling in his head since he had woken up this morning.  
  
A thirty minute drive separated the Foundry from Queen Mansion. Oliver got there in fifteen. **  
  
** The white gravel of the driveway crunched under his tires as he steered his bike toward the entrance, just in time to see his mother step outside. Surprised, she stopped on top of the stairs, looking at him as he turned off his bike and took his helmet of. “Oliver,” she said, “I didn’t expect you.” She sounded tense, but she had for weeks. She frowned at him, worried. “What happened to your face? Did you get into another fight with Carter Bowen?”  
  
“Not with Carter Bowen,” was all Oliver said to that and added before his mother could ask any further, “I have to talk to you.”  
  
“I’m on my way to Queen Consolidated. I have an important meeting at ten o’clock.”  
  
Walking toward his mother, Oliver fixed her with a stare. “It can’t want.” He stopped next to her. “I’ll make it quick.” He motioned to the front door. **  
  
** Moira Queen wanted to deny his request, he could see it, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Trying to tell her that, he sent her a stern glance and must have gotten the message across because Moira Queen sighed and walked back into the mansion.  
  
Oliver followed his mother. “Where’s Walter?”  
  
“On his way to New York. He’ll be back in two weeks to visit Thea.”  
  
“He cares very much about her,” Oliver observed as he followed his mother into the sitting room. “I appreciate that he came back for her.”  
  
“Walter is a good man,” Moira stated matter-of-factly and turned to face her son. “What is this urgent matter that cannot wait?”  
  
Moira Queen stood by the window, making no move to sit down, the spring sun glowing brightly behind her. Her posture was all tension, her back stiff and her arms crossed in front of her chest. Oliver stopped quite a few steps away from her. “I need to know what’s going on with you.”  
  
“Oliver,” Moira sighed. “There’s—” **  
  
** “Don’t,” he hurried to cut in, “say there’s _nothing_ going on.”  
  
“—nothing going on.”  
  
Oliver’s lips pressed together and he couldn’t stop the glare he sent the woman who had been his confident before he had been lost at sea. “I know that Felicity contacted The Hood on your behalf.”  
  
Shock crossed Moira’s face, replaced by anger. “She shouldn’t have told you that.”  
  
“You’re right.” Oliver’s eyes were glued to his mother. “ _You_ should have told me.” He took a step toward her. “NO more lies, mom. What’s going on here?”  
  
“All you need to know is that I’m doing everything in my power to keep this family safe.”  
  
“Yes,” Oliver snapped. “You keep saying that. But that’s _bullshit_!”  
  
Moira took an angry step toward her son. “You will not use that tone or language with me, young man!”  
  
She was using her strict mom-voice of outraged disappointment. Oliver hadn’t heard that tone in over five years. It caused a flash of nostalgia to rush through him, but it was gone as quickly as it came—which was oddly reminiscent of the past, too. That tone had never had much effect on Oliver.  
  
His mother glared at him. “I am doing what is best for this family. That’s my priority. Ever since you and your father disappeared, it’s all that’s mattered: protecting those I have left from those who mean us harm. You should be thankful.”  
  
“For you putting my safety first? I should be thankful for that?”  
  
“Yes.” **  
  
** “Well, I’m NOT!” Oliver fixed his mother with a hard stare. “It’s what dad did—and that’s enough of a burden already.” Seeing the questioning confusion in his mother’s face, Oliver continued, his voice losing some of its cutting edge. “Dad didn’t die when the _Gambit_ went down. We made it to the life raft. The two of us. And then we drifted. For days. In the end there wasn’t enough food and water for the both of us.” He met his mother’s eyes. “So, he shot himself in the head.”  
  
She looked like the words derailed her. Nearly frantic, she shook her head. “I don’t want to hear this.”  
  
“Maybe you don’t. But I have to live with it. I have to live, knowing he died for me. He committed suicide for me. I survived five years of hell because of that, because I couldn’t let his sacrifice be in vain. But do you have any idea what it feels like? Living with the knowledge that somebody died in your name?” He huffed in pained, mock amusement. “My _safety_ , this family’s safety—” He shook his head in aggravation, pressing his lips together.  
  
His eyes roamed his mother’s face, seeing how shocked she was, how rattled by his confession, but he also saw that he couldn’t expect anything else from her.  
  
She had confided in The Hood. She wouldn’t confide in her son.  
  
There wasn’t any need to say anything else, to reveal his secrets to her when she didn’t share hers with him. Part of him had been tempted to tell her of his promise to right father’s wrongs and make her understand why it was so important that she let him in, why he needed to stop the Undertaking at _all costs_. Why he couldn’t let anybody else die in his name. He had come here in hopes of finding a new ally, gaining more knowledge, some proof that could make Lance believe him and get the people out of the Glades.  
  
Oliver didn’t know what he had been expecting. The thought that his mother would just open up and tell him everything she told The Hood after she had been quiet about this for months – years, actually – was laughable. And really, his mother was better off not knowing that her husband’s last wish had been to stop what she had enabled for years—even if her conscience had finally caught up to her.  
  
Moira Queen was better off not knowing, and Oliver was better off not letting her in.

He couldn’t fool himself anymore: he was in this alone. It was _his_ burden, his promise to his father, and he was the one who had to pick up this fight. He couldn’t delegate the responsibility, couldn’t push it off to Lance, or expect anything from his mother. He was the one who had to pay his debt and nobody else.  
  
Standing in the sunny sitting room of his childhood home, looking at the rattled face of his mother, the woman whose unquestioning love he had taken for granted for years only to question if her love was enough to excuse her actions, the truth hit him—the truth he had already known last night, but refused to accept.  
  
He looked at his mother. “I need to put an end to it. Whatever the cost.” He turned around and hurried out of the mansion, leaving the front door swinging open after him. **  
  
** Oliver would stop the Undertaking. Or die trying.


	42. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys and girls, we’re getting there, I promise, but first our favorite idiot has to work through some issues. So, we’ll do that and then we’ll start really wrapping things up.
> 
> I know I write it for forty chapters, but I mean it each time I type the words: _thank you_. So many people are still with me and invested, and it means the world to me. Your amazingness makes me feel like I’m floating. Your support is everything. Thank you.
> 
>  **Albiona** = ❤
> 
> [Oh, I heard the season 4 trailer was finally released—and I heard it’s awesome. That’s all I want to know about it for now. I’d appreciate it if you left me in my bubble. And, yes, I already claimed my title as weird cat lady of this fandom. Thank you for understanding.]
> 
> Okay, on to the issues at hand. Happy reading. Love, Jules.

**May 6 th, 2013**  
  
The day after the day your husband nearly died by the hands of his best friend’s father was the perfect day to skip work.  
  
Felicity already had the phone in hand to call in sick when she remembered that today was Keisha Foreman’s first day.  
  
So, the day after the day her husband had nearly been killed by a diabolical lunatic was the day Felicity Queen welcomed Firestorm’s new spokeswoman with a polite smile and the inner urge to make this quick.  
  
Sadly, it was really hard to make a new, important employee feel welcome, show her around the office, introduce her to everybody, _and_ make it quick. One hour turned into two and with every quarter of an hour that passed, Felicity felt more and more strained. She shouldn’t be at her office, she should be at the Foundry. She should be with Oliver.  
  
This morning she had felt how much in his own head he has been. She knew him and she knew he needed time to contemplate things. When it came to the big, emotionally heavy stuff, Oliver needed solitude. He needed to come to terms with things by himself before he could discuss them with others. And after last night, Felicity knew that there was a lot to think about, a lot to process. She respected his coping mechanism, she wanted him to do what was best for him, but she also needed to show him that he wasn’t alone in this, that she was on and by his side, that they would find a way to stop the Undertaking. They would make a plan, one that didn’t involve him confronting Merlyn again.  
  
Last night, after Oliver had fallen asleep with his head resting on her stomach, she had finally grasped the magnitude of Oliver’s allegiance, of the responsibility driving him to keep his promise. She felt stupid for not understanding it sooner when he talked about it so often. The expression “right my father’s wrongs” was practically a proverb in their household.  
  
And how could he not be desperate to honor his father’s last wish?  
  
Felicity remembered her first visit to the Foundry, that memorable night she had found out about his crusade. Back then she had seen it clearly: the worst case survivor’s guilt edging him forward. It somehow had become less obvious as time had passed. But that didn’t mean that it had disappeared. She had simply overlooked it, focused on other things, hadn’t contemplated it anymore.  
  
But he had always been honest with her. He had always told her he had to finish his list, fulfill his mission.  
  
Of course, the thought of not being able to had crushed him.  
  
Lying in bed, feeling his warm body cuddled to her, stroking his head, she had decided that she would do anything in her power to help him keep his promise.  
  
But, first, she had to get to the Foundry.  
  
Sitting in her favorite purple chair in her office, Felicity sent Keisha Foreman another polite smile. The woman radiated confidence. She held herself with grace and determination—and it had convinced Felicity that she was perfect to represent her company to the public. In her black, perfectly tailored business suit, Keisha nodded, causing the curls of her afro to bob along. “I agree. You cannot separate this software from the cyber-attack anyway. We need to address this head-on and make people see that ultimately our knowledge trumped that of the people who were out to get us.”  
  
Felicity smiled. This woman was already using the right pronoun. Maybe this “us” was typical PR-language, but Felicity enjoyed hearing it. “Sounds good to me.”  
  
“Maybe we can make it part of the advertising…. I’ll need to think about this some more.”  
  
“Of course. This is only your first day. I don’t expect a campaign at the ready. Take your time and get to know us a little. We—”  
  
A knock cut her off. The door opened only enough for Jerry to poke his head in. “Felicity, your husband’s here. He’s been waiting for ten minutes and he seems tense….”  
  
Immediately Felicity felt tense, too. “I think we’re about done.” She looked at Keisha. “Is there anything else we need to discuss? Anything you’d like to know or I can help you with?”  
  
Keisha thought for a second, but then she shook her head. “No, I think I have enough input for one day to sort through.”  
  
Jerry nodded understanding as the women got up and he backed out, leaving the door ajar.

“If there’s anything you need, please, just let me know.” Felicity smiled and added, “Or Yongtak.”  
  
“I will. Thank you.”  
  
Felicity opened the door and revealed Oliver. Felicity instantly noticed that he looked better than he had this morning. His eyes weren’t red and puffy anymore, he didn’t look as pale, his shoulders weren’t slumped. Instead, his posture was rigid. That told long and detailed tales of the tautness inside him. She smiled. “Oliver, hey.” She gestured to the petite woman next to her. “Oliver, this is Keisha Foreman, Firestorm’s new spokeswoman. Keisha, this is my husband, Oliver.”  
  
“Mr. Queen,” Keisha Foreman said, offering her hand. “It is very nice to meet you.”  
  
“Yes,” Oliver said, managing to add a polite smile, believable to a stranger (but not to Felicity). “It’s nice to meet you, too.” He shook Keisha’s hand. “So, you’re brave enough to take up this task?”  
  
“I’m always up for a challenge.”  
  
Oliver nodded agreement. “I’m sure you’ll do great,” he said and stepped out of the way, making room for Keisha who sent the couple a polite smile as she passed.  
  
Closing her office door, Felicity turned to Oliver. “Wha—” she started, but he cut her off with a kiss. His hands cupped her face, keeping her close to him as his lips pressed down on hers. Almost instantaneously he deepened the kiss. There was a certain desperation in his touch that surprised Felicity, but there also was so much passion in the way his tongue danced around hers, so much tenderness in the way he held her.  
  
Nearly reluctantly they broke their connection after a long, long minute. Slightly breathless, Felicity stared up at her husband. His forehead resting against hers, he pleaded huskily, “I need you to come home with me.”  
  
“Why?” Felicity flinched, hearing the word leave her lips. Why did she have to ask _why_? The romantic thing – and the thing adequate to the situation – would have been to wordlessly nod and let him usher her out of the office. But she couldn’t do that, not when his request was not only out of the blue but also out of character. She had to question his motives, even if she ruined the mood.  
  
Luckily, Oliver’s mood didn’t seem ruined at all—much the opposite: he smiled. “Because I need us to spend the next hour in bed. I need us to ignore everything for a little while and focus on us.”  
  
That sounded perfect, like the best way to spend an hour or more. But the echoes of it spiked Felicity’s suspicion even more. That wasn’t like Oliver. That wasn’t the smartest thing to do with everything going on and looming around them. It was careless and reckless to put personal pleasure first—and Oliver didn’t do that.  
  
The smile on his face vanished. “Don’t frown,” he requested gently. “I just need to clear my head.” His hand left her cheek, trailed down her neck and to her collarbone. “I need to be with you.”  
  
There was an unfamiliar pleading in his voice telling Felicity how serious he was about his last statement; it derived from honest need that wasn’t sexual craving but emotional longing. He really needed a time-out, a breather, and both – plus all the implications that came with it – really sounded too perfect, even if it wasn’t the smartest thing to do. Slowly, she nodded. “Okay. Let’s get out of here.”  
  
_________________________________________________  
  
  
Desire swam in Oliver’s eyes, turning them darker. It was right there, written all over his face, but it wasn’t the heated lust they shared quite often.  
  
She had been right before: this wasn’t exclusively sexual, this was emotional.  
  
The way he looked at her told her of his love, of contentment. Felicity could read all that in his gaze, but there was also something else, something she couldn’t place.  
  
Meeting each other’s eyes, they lay on the bed; Felicity on her right, Oliver on his left. His hand followed the curve of her body upward, his rough fingers and palm gently tracing her skin, wandering over her as if he was trying to memorize it. Her hand slipped below his navel. It was an almost touch, the softest caress. She was trying not to aggravate his bruises as much as to match the tender mood he had created. She closed her hand around him, deliberately slow, stroking him while studying his every reaction. To her surprise, his eyes stayed glued to hers.  
  
The barest sigh escaped him while his hand continued his exploration up her neck and to her face. His thumb traced her mouth, giving her a moment to close her lips around it, sucking, flicking her tongue against it, before it wandered up her cheek. Only then did his eyes leave hers. His thumb brushed her eyebrow, lingering longer in one spot—right where the edge of their bathroom door had connected five months ago as she tried to flee from her kidnappers. The scar was tiny, her eyebrow had grown over it, but it was there, exactly were Oliver’s thumb halted.  
  
The unidentified something in his eyes spiked. The unfamiliarity became harder and harder to ignore, turning into a yell demanding Felicity’s attention, because she knew Oliver. She knew her husband who should be thrusting his hips, moving against her hand still wrapped around his length. She was playing with him in her hand but not giving him as much friction as he normally craved. The abnormality increased when her actions only got another small sigh out of him.  
  
Feeling like her efforts didn’t have the desired, familiar effect, she let go of him and brought her hand up to his neck, forcing his eyes back to hers. “Oliver,” she said gently. “Not that this isn’t nice. Because it is. Very nice. More than nice. I could spend all afternoon like this, every afternoon. Every _other_ afternoon—”  
  
He silenced her with a kiss. She hated when he did that. She loved when he did that.  
  
Scooting closer to her, his hand moved to her back and tugged her against him. She folded into his body, feeling him hard against her in every sense. His kiss was slow and sensual and Felicity wished it would never end. His hand traveled lower on her back to her ass, cupping it, before he moved on to her thigh, adding gentle pressure. Following his wordless request, she placed her leg over his hip and in the next moment she felt him at her center. A moan fell from her lips, ending the kiss as he slipped into her. A smile played around the corners of his mouth. His eyes were back to studying her as he stayed still, buried deep within her. “You’re right: this is more than nice,” he told her, his voice throaty. “I wish we could stay like this forever.”  
  
She felt the weight of his words, knew all the things waiting for them outside of this bed, of their home.  
  
The reality he was trying to escape was a plan involving his mother and threatening the lives of thousands. The denial she sensed in his actions stirred the suspicions within her anew. Her worry had been awoken when he had come into her office asking her to retreat home with him. Hiding away wasn’t like Oliver—he attacked things head on.  
  
But she knew reality would find them soon enough. There wasn’t any harm in granting him, granting _them_ a moment of peace, of contentment before the storm. She focused on that thought, because she shared his longing: she wished they could hide away forever.  
  
Her hand was still resting on his neck. Letting her thumb trace his ear shell, she sent him a small smile. “Yes,” she agreed. The smile turned a bit more teasing. “I told you: I’m mostly right.”  
  
He chuckled and she felt his movements ripple through her body. “Yes, you are.” He pecked her. “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”  
  
Her fingers stilled and now it was her eyes drilling into him, needing him to know how serious she was about this. “I’m lucky to have you in my life, too. Oliver—”  
  
His name turned into a moan as he started moving inside her. Despite feeling strangely cut off, Felicity didn’t have it in her to object. All she could do was feel him, enjoy him and the sensations he created inside her. She brought her hand to his ass, feeling his muscles move, touched her lips to his neck, nibbling his skin, getting more and more lost in him, in his strong hands holding her, in his breath brushing her skin, in the ecstasy he brought her. It collected inside her quickly. His movements were measured and strong. Tilting her hips, she made him stroke against her perfectly. The sound of his heavy breathing, the shakiness in his hold told her of his own pleasure building, and the thought spiked her own enjoyment. More and more bliss gathered inside her until it spilled. It wasn’t a forceful, sudden eruption, but a slow wave flowing through her, lingering and only dissolving slowly, curling her toes, hitching her breath, making her moan a sigh. She gasped for air, sweat coated her body when she came down from her orgasmic high, regaining her senses in time to see Oliver’s eyes on her before they squeezed shut as he thrust into her one last time, freezing inside her as his hands held on to her tightly. She watched him fall into ecstasy. His body completely stilled as he rode his own excitement. The peaceful moment of quiet ended with him sucking air into his lungs, taking a deep, audible breath, his chest heaving with exertion.  
  
Silence engulfed them as they held each other, staying as they were, Felicity kissing his neck, his hands caressing her back. Their heartbeats had slowed when Oliver made her meet his eyes again. “I love you.” He said, quietly. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t say it this morning, But I do. I love you.”  
  
“I know.” Felicity added a small smile to her words. “I love you.” She was about to say more when a quiet sound came from the hall. Knowing that it was her cellphone ringing inside the depths of her purse, she sighed. Oliver’s grip on her loosened, but she shook her head. “Ignore it.”  
  
He sent her a smile filled with sadness, telling her without saying one word how realistic he believed that plan to be.  
  
The ringing continued, digging itself into Felicity’s brain. Each new ring came with a different memory made in the last eight months, with a different time when she had answered the phone to get bad news: Oliver asking her to come help her, Roy telling her that Thea was on a bad trip, Yongtak informing her that the Firestorm servers were fried—all those catastrophes of varying degrees had entered her life by a phone conversation. The ringing sounded like impending doom. A fatality gripped her that didn’t feel exaggerated but entirely reasonable. After the previous days it couldn’t even be considered a sense of foreboding—it felt like a certainty, especially since the ringing didn’t stop. It continued relentlessly until it was cut off mid-sound. Her voicemail had taken over.  
  
Daring to slowly lift her eyes, Felicity looked at Oliver. His hand was still caressing her back. He was about to say something when the ringing sounded again. Felicity closed her eyes for an instant. “I hoped we’d have more time until reality found us.”  
  
“Yes,” he agreed and said nothing more. Instead he kissed her forehead, his hand leaving her back. Felicity climbed out of bed. Her naked feet scurrying over the wooden floor in the hall, she hurried to her purse and answered the call. A quick glance at the display told her who was calling, the picture visible intensifying the bad feeling. “Moira,” she greeted. “What’s happened?”  
  
“Felicity.” Moira sounded strangely breathless while her voice was somewhat higher than usual. The way her mother-in-law pronounced her name said enough to let Felicity’s heart tap faster. “I need you to deliver a message.”  
  
“A message?” She turned back toward the bedroom door where Oliver appeared in the doorframe, equally naked as she. “To whom?” The question slipped past her lips before her brain caught up. “Forget it,” she hurried to add. “I understand. What do you want me to tell him?”  
  
“It’s happening tonight.”  
  
Felicity’s breath caught in her throat, the tapping of her heart turned into a drumming, making it feel like her chest was bursting and her ears were buzzing. “Tonight?” she repeated, her eyes on Oliver whose muscles flexed in response. (Sadly, the situation was too horrible to appreciate that sight, which was honestly _nice_.)  
  
“Yes,” Moira confirmed with a shake in her voice.  
  
Oliver walked toward her and Felicity made a decision. “Do you know anything other than what was on the USB-stick?”  
  
“Felicity—” The warning was clearly audible in the way the other woman said her name. It was also clearly visible in Oliver’s glare. But Felicity Queen didn’t care about either warning.  
  
“No, not Felicity,” she spoke into the receiver while locking her eyes on her husband. “Tell me, is there anything else you could tell me to help find… them?”  
  
Silence hit her ears and then Moira’s small voice. “I gave you all I know.” She hesitated shortly. “It can’t be stopped, can it?”  
  
His mother’s answer must be visible in Felicity’s eyes, because Oliver stopped dead in his tracks, pressing his lips together, his index finger trailed up his thumb. No, Felicity decided, this wasn’t acceptable. “There has to be a way.”  
  
“Felicity, stay out of this.” Moira urged with a hint of desperation in her voice. “You and Oliver both stay out of the Glades. Do you hear me?”  
  
“Yes,” Felicity said, watching Oliver turn and head back to their bedroom. “I hear you.” Because it was the truth, she wasn’t deaf, she had heard Moira Queen’s plea—and she would ignore it completely. “I have to deliver the message. Bye, Moira.”  
  
“Goodbye, Felicity.”  
  
Ending the call, Felicity entered the bedroom. Oliver had already pulled up his pants and was busy closing the buttons. “Tonight,” she said.  
  
He avoided looking in her general direction. “Yes, I heard.” He reached for his shirt.  
  
Following his example, Felicity slipped on her panties. “Your mother told us to stay out of the Glades.”  
  
“Good advice,” Oliver complimented, still not looking at her. “You’ll take it.”  
  
“What?” Shocked, Felicity stared at him, her hands, about to close her bra, stilling on her back. Instantly, annoyance took over. She hooked her bra and placed her hands on her hips, sending him an angry stare while trying to ignore the knowledge that this gesture probably wasn’t as intimidating as she wanted it to be, not with her only in her underwear, sporting ruffled sex-hair. “No!” she objected forcefully. “I won’t. I’ll go to the Foundry with you. I’ll go there and help you make a plan to end this. Because we _will_ end this.”  
  
He sighed. “Felicity—”  
  
“What is it with people sighing my name like that today? Is that supposed to impress me? Because it _doesn’t_. I told you: you don’t get to boss me around. I’ll go to the Foundry with you.” She glanced back to the clock on her nightstand. “It’s three o’clock. That means _tonight_ is still a few hours away, we still have time.” She frowned. “What time do you think ‘tonight’ means? Six-ish? That seems too early…. Around eight or more like ten?”  
  
Felicity looked at Oliver, who didn’t show the slightest reaction to anything she had just said. Her suspicion, drowned out by an orgasm coming in the form of a tidal wave and a phone conversation with her mother-in-law (two things that shouldn’t belong in the same sentence, now that she thought about it) rushed back. She took a step toward him. “Oliver, what—”  
  
“You’re right,” he cut her off. His eyes moved past her to the clock. “We still have a few hours.” He reached for his shoes and socks. “Get dressed. I’ll call Digg. We should get to the Foundry.” Not waiting for her answer, he hurried out of the bedroom with bare feet.  
  
Felicity stared at the door as he disappeared from her view. Okay, this retreat confirmed it: something was seriously wrong with her husband.  
  
______________________________________________  
  
  
The concept of time travel was something Felicity had contemplated multiple times during in her life. Her first time had happened just before turning 13. (Her first time thinking about time travel. Her _first time_ had come later… but that was beside the point.) Back then she had deemed it necessary to read up on the scientific analysis to find out how realistic the idea of going back through time was. Letting Andrew Perkins copy her answers during the math test had been stupid, because he didn’t _like her_ like her, he only liked that she fell for his stupid-ass charming smile. If you wanted to go to an elite college, getting caught cheating on a test (or being an accessory to cheat) wasn’t the best thing.  
  
In this first scenario Felicity’s version of time travelling had been hacking that incident right out of her school file.  
  
Many more incidents had followed when she had thoroughly wished for a do-over: the interview at MIT (calling a highly discussed theory ‘doubtful’ had seemed like a very brave and provocative thing to do—until she found out that the guy who had come up with this doubtful theory was heading the interview panel), the first meeting with Moira Queen (mentioning her son’s skilled fingers had honestly had _no_ sexual connotation—originally), the break-up with Ray Palmer (she had come up with many clever answers to his statement that she needed his help in the corporate world, and all her witty retorts had come thirty minutes _after_ she yelled “fuck you” at him and stormed out of his apartment).  
  
Strangely Oliver had never been involved in any time warping wishes. Because meeting him had ultimately led to Jonas—and she could never wish to erase her son from her life.  
  
But right now, standing in the Foundry and watching Oliver, she felt like she had traveled back seven months, back to her first meeting with the stranger she was married to and who was all guarded superficiality, controlled calculation, and detached interest. The lacking emotions on his face, the upright posture, the careful movements, the avoidance of eye contact—it had been there on the very first day when they had sat at the dinner table at Queen Mansion. But those bad habits had been shed almost the moment they entered her apartment. He hadn’t been this tense around her since then. The same with John. Oliver was always relaxed (or at least his very own version of relaxed) around both of them.  
  
Today there was a tension in the Foundry that felt unnatural—and it was all Oliver.  
  
Standing next to the workbench, he stared at the green, wooden box resting on top. Holding on to the back of her swivel chair, her back to her desk, Felicity studied Oliver as his eyes trailed over the only luggage he had brought back from the island. She didn’t have the slightest idea what he was thinking—and that hadn’t happened in many months. Uneasily, she glanced to John who had taken position on her right, leaning against her desk with his arms crossed over his chest. He gave her the barest nod.  
  
“So,” Diggle said, calm and measured, “the Undertaking is happening tonight?”  
  
“It is.” Oliver hesitated another second. With a visible mental push he turned to face them and froze again. There were many meters separating them, the med table in the middle creating a barrier.  
  
Felicity fought down the urge to ask him what – the fuck! – was going on with him. She had done that (minus the expletive) at least five times on their drive over (right after calling Kristina, only getting her voicemail, and leaving her a massage to, _please_ , avoid the Glades today). He hadn’t given her a straight answer once.  
  
“And we still don’t have the slightest idea where the devices are,” John stated.  
  
“That’s correct.”  
  
Pursing her lips, Felicity felt like crossing the distance between them and smacking Oliver. “Okay,” she said, her voice hard with annoyance, “if you could, maybe, snap out of this strange state you retreated to and actually participate in this conversation. We might figure this out.”  
  
He focused his attention on her. “Felicity, we haven’t figured anything out for months. And now we’re supposed to do that in a few hours?”  
  
She couldn’t believe her ears. “So, what? We’ll just give up?”  
  
“No,” he said, way too calmly for her liking. “I—”  
  
Felicity’s ringing phone cut him off. Picking it up from the desk behind her, she was ready to decline the call when she saw who was calling. This caller had turned into an anomaly in the last four months and that thought forced her to answer. “Walter.”  
  
_“Felicity, are you anywhere near a television?”_  
  
“What?” Felicity asked, but was already turning to her computer monitor. “Why?”  
  
_“I just received an email alert that Moira Queen is holding a press conference at her home. I assume you don’t know anything about this?”_  
  
“No.” Trapping her phone between her shoulder and her ear, Felicity brought her fingers to her keyboard. “This is the first time I’m hearing about this. What could—” The image of her mother-in-law stepping behind a speaker’s desk appearing on her screen locked the words in her throat.  
  
Getting off the desk, John faced the monitor, too. Felicity turned the volume up. Oliver moved to Felicity’s other side as Moira started talking.  
  
_“My name is Moira Dearden Queen.”_ Her voice came out of the speakers and rang clearly through the Foundry. She spoke slowly, but knowing her mother-in-law, Felicity could hear the slight shaking telling of the other woman’s unease. _“I am the acting CEO of Queen Consolidated. And, God forgive me, I have failed this city.”_  
  
A huff of air escaped Oliver’s nose as he heard that sentence. His lips pressed together. Felicity could practically feel his fingers trace his thumb. Felicity could imagine how hearing his mother say that exact sentence must sound to him.  
  
_“For the past five years, under the threat for my life and the lives of my family, I have been complicit in an undertaking with one horrible purpose—to destroy the Glades and everyone in it. I realize now that my family’s safety will mean nothing if I let this dreadful act occur. But you need to know that the architect of this nightmare is Malcolm Merlyn.”_  
  
It shouldn’t be possible, but the tension within Oliver managed to increase. As the gasped _“No”_ by the collected press came from the speakers, Oliver’s shoulders tightened, his muscles twitching. Felicity glanced at him and saw that his eyes were glued to the broadcast.  
  
_“Yes,”_ Moira assured the reporters, _“and I have proof that he has killed dozens in pursuit of this madness. Adam Hunt, Frank Chen, and my husband Robert.”_ Moira’s voice wavered while saying her husband’s name—her first husband’s name, her second husband was breathing quite heavily through the speaker at Felicity’s ear. 

  
_“Please!”_ Desperation was clearly audible now. _“If you reside in the Glades, you need to get out now. Your lives and the lives of your children depend on it. Please.”  
  
_ Felicity, Oliver, and John watched as Moira stepped from the speaker’s desk, causing a commotion. Reporters yelled questions until they combined to an indistinguishable conglomerate of voices. The picture shook on the screen as reporters pushed and shoved, trying to get to Moira Queen. But the only one who got to her was a policeman who handcuffed Moira. That was the last image before the live transmission ended and anchorwoman Bethany Snow took over. Felicity turned that off instantly, she couldn’t stand seeing that woman.  
  
John was the first to find his voice. “I’m sorry, man.”  
  
“Don’t be,” Oliver dismissed in an awfully emotionless way, “she gave those people a chance.”  
  
_“She made the right decision.”_ Walter’s statement hitting her ear brought Felicity out of her shock. He sounded strangely proud, strangely relieved.  
  
Stepping away, leaving the two men, she asked, “Walter, did you know about this?” Silence was the first answer. The nothingness and the implications it brought with it, knocked all air out of Felicity. All she managed was a shocked whisper. “You knew….”  
  
_“I knew that Moira was involved in a dangerous plan, yes. But I didn’t know any specifics. As you know, I did some research, but… I gave them up.”_  
  
“Why?” The question sounded like a hurt accusation Felicity couldn’t keep from slipping. Because, honestly, she didn’t understand. Walter was a person who knew right from wrong, somebody who stood up for what he believed in, who wasn’t afraid to take risks to do the right thing. Or at least so she had thought—now she wasn’t so sure anymore.  
  
_“Moira told me that the people she loved were in mortal danger and that I needed to stop,”_ Walter admitted, quietly. _“I didn’t believe her. I was unafraid to jeopardize my own safety. But then they took you.”  
  
_ The blood rushed to Felicity’s feet and back up again, her face heating. Her left hand fell to the med table, feeling the need to hold on to something. Her tongue felt strangely heavy when she said, “The kidnapping….” She had suspected, of course. After all, she had found the video in the files Oliver had gathered from Merlyn Global’s mainframe; the video showing her in that tiny cell, the video they had sent to Walter. She had been pretty sure intimidation and blackmailing had been the purposes of that recording—but being pretty sure and hearing Walter admit it were two very different things. They also came with very different emotions.  
  
_“Yes, I was willing to put myself at risk,”_ Walter said softly, _“but not you,”_  
  
“I’m sorry.” It was all Felicity could think of saying, because it was the truth. She was sorry for being the reason Walter left Starling City, why he’d distanced himself from her and from Thea and even from Moira, and why he’d felt like he had to stay on the other side of the country.  
  
_“Don’t be. Your safety is most important. You are precious to me, Felicity.… As you know, I never had children of my own….”_  
  
He left the sentence hanging and Felicity’s heart jumped in her chest—it seemed to move her tongue by its own account, bypassing her brain. “That means a lot to me, Walter. And the feeling’s mutual. If there ever was a father figure in my life, it’s you. I mean,” she hurried to add, “obviously, you’re my mentor. I might have called you my dignified cheerleader, which might not be exactly dignified, but it’s meant as a term of endearment.”  
  
She heard him chuckle and it was enough to make her stop talking. _“Felicity, you are most special.”_ She smiled against the receiver and enjoyed it for a moment. The short instant of content ended when Walter sighed. _“I’ll book the next flight to Starling City. You and Oliver won’t have to face this storm alone. We need to check on Thea, too. But Moira did the right thing. I’m very proud of her.”_  
  
“Yes, it was brave.” Even if it was last minute bravery, Moira Queen had put the lives of strangers first. That was a very good reason for pride.  
  
_“I’ll be with you soon.”_  
  
They said their goodbyes and Felicity ended the call. Slowly, she turned back to the two men who had listened to her exchange – as if there weren’t more pressing things that needed their attention – and found that Oliver’s detached mask had slipped. A small smile lit up his face, showing her that he understood the emotional magnitude of what had just happened. He grasped the bit of positivity in that horror around them, the moment of calm in the midst of the storm.  
  
“Walter’s coming home,” Felicity informed them.  
  
Oliver nodded. “That’s good.” He sounded like he meant it. Finally, an honest statement from him when all he had given her in the last hour were evasive one-liners (this was also a one-liner consisting of two words, but it came with a different feeling).  
  
“Okay, I think we need—” Felicity nearly grunted in unhappiness when her cellphone rang again, cutting her off. An unknown number greeted her in the display, but considering how important the last two calls had been not answering wasn’t even an option. “Yes?”  
  
_“My mother’s a mass murderer.”_  
  
“Thea.” Immediately, the smile fled from Oliver’s face. Stiff tautness took over again while Felicity concluded, “You saw the press conference.”  
  
_“Yeah,”_ Thea huffed on the other end of the line. _“Luckily, we had the afternoon off in the common room. So watching my mother’s confession was an experience group seven could share.”_  
  
Felicity stared at Oliver and suddenly her brain was empty because, “I don’t know what to say. There’s no way to make this any less horrible.”  
  
_“A lot of the things she did and said lately make sense now,”_ Thea said quietly.  
  
“She’s taken responsibility,” Felicity said and slowly started walking around the med table, circling it in her need to counteract a sudden restlessness. “She’s willing to face the consequences. She revealed the plan and warned people. That’s a good thing.”  
  
_“I guess….”_ A moment of hesitation followed before Thea continued. _“The warden of this little establishment was afraid I’d have a breakdown. He made me call you right away. Now he’s sitting next to me, disapproving of me calling him a warden.”  
  
_ Felicity sensed the deeper meaning behind that statement: somebody was watching Thea, listening, making her feel like she couldn’t talk freely. Stopping next to the workbench, Felicity let her hand trace the tools assembled there. “You need to focus on getting better, Thea. That’s your main concern right now.”  
  
_“Actually, Roy is.”_  
  
“Roy?” Felicity said and then it hit her. Her eyes snapped to Oliver. “He lives in the Glades.”  
  
_“Yes. I’m worried about him,”_ Thea admitted softly.  
  
Felicity saw Oliver reach for his cellphone. “Oliver’s calling him as we speak,” she told her sister-in-law. “We’ll ask him to get to our place. He’ll stay with us. We’ll look out for him.”  
  
_“Ollie’s with you?”_  
  
“Yes, do you want to talk to him?”  
  
Again, Thea hesitated, causing yet another break in conversation. _“I know he can fix this.”_  
  
Felicity frowned. “Fix what?”  
  
_“You know, like he did with the guy at the auction while we waited. Or at Big Belly Burger.”_  
  
For the second time in five minutes, the blood within Felicity seemed to leave her head and rush downward. Her heart drummed in her chest as she understood. “You—” Felicity had to stop talking since her voice broke slightly. Subconsciously her eyes sought Oliver’s. Her husband had already finished his ten second conversation with Roy, which had revolved around the order to get out of the Glades and to the apartment. Felicity swallowed and started anew, getting only two words out, “You know?”  
  


_“Yes.”_  
  
“You _know_?” Felicity needed to check, to really make sure. Her stressing of that one word caused understanding within Oliver, she could see it in his face, in the darkening of his eyes, the clenching of his jaw, the tightening of his hands into fists. He stayed firmly rooted by the desk, unable to move in his shock.  
  
_“He’s my hero. Tell him I’m proud of him.”  
_  
“I will,” Felicity promised.  
  
_“You and Ollie, you’re a good team. Never forget that.”  
  
_ Emotions caused Felicity’s voice to waver as she retreated to sarcasm. “Wow, sobriety turned you into a Zen master, huh?”  
  
_“The warden would very much disagree.”_ Thea sighed. _“Call me if anything happens, please?”_  
  
“Of course. We’ll take care of Roy, I promise. We love you.”  
  
_“I love you, too. Tell Ollie he dealt with high-me. He can deal with anything. Bye, Felicity.”_  
  
“Bye, Thea.” Slowly, Felicity let her hand with the phone sink.  
  
“She knows,” Oliver stated, all the emotions clawing at him shaking in his voice. The cool detachment had officially evaporated.  
  
“She says you can fix it. And that you’re her hero.” Felicity let that sink in. “She asked me to tell you that she’s proud of you and that since you dealt with her on a bad trip, you can deal with anything.”  
  
His nervous tick kicked back in. The fingers of his left hand started moving, sliding over each other. Knowing that he needed a second to process and to sort out his feelings, Felicity placed her phone on the workbench next to her and reached for the notebook resting next to the green box.  
  
Glancing at John Diggle, who stood with his chest puffed out next to Oliver, she saw that the soldier was following the same plan she was: give Oliver a few seconds to gather his thoughts.  
  
“We need to find the devices as quickly as possible,” John addressed Felicity, who nodded.  
  
Without really seeing them, she skipped through the pages of the notebook she had already looked at uncounted times. Her tongue started moving, voicing her thoughts, “These things are huge, difficult to transport. They must be in place already. So… if I want to level a city district, where do I put the earthquake machines?”  
  
The question was simple—but as she asked it out loud she realized how essential it was. This might be the answer to everything. They didn’t have to look everywhere in this city, they only had to look in the Glades. Moira had confirmed it, but they had limited the target of the Undertaking down to that district a few months ago when they had found out what the symbol on the flyleaf—  
  
Felicity felt like somebody had sparked her brain, sent a shock right through it and suddenly she knew. She _knew_. Hectically, she turned the pages back to the very first page and the symbol that consisted of the subway lines running beneath the Glades.  
  
“God,” Felicity breathed and marched toward her desk. “We had it right under our noses the entire time.”  
  
“What?” John asked while Oliver simply stepped out of the way and turned Felicity’s chair so that she could sit right down and swivel toward her computer.  
  
She held the notebook out to John. “That symbol,” was all she said as her fingers started flying over the keys. She was so excited that her normally flawless typing skills were lacking. Deleting the misspelled commands, she forced herself to get a grip.  
  
“Yes,” John said, looking at the flyleaf. “That made us think that the Undertaking was connected to the Glades.”  
  
“What if it’s more specific than that?” Felicity asked, still typing—hacking, really.  
  
“What do you mean?” John asked.  
  
“If I had a machine that could trigger an earthquake in a normally geographically stable area, where would I put it?”  
  
The answer came to both men at the same time. As one they breathed, “Underground.”  
  
“Exactly,” Felicity confirmed. “Aha! I’m in.”  
  
John placed his hands down on the desk to her left, bringing his face closer to her screens. Oliver stayed straight, but she could feel a certain shift in the tension gripping him.  
  
“Are those the tectonic plates underneath Starling City?” John guessed.  
  
“Yes.” Felicity brought her finger up. “This red line here is a known fault that runs right below the Glades.” She shortly checked the data accompanying the simulation. “For about a mile, the fault runs underneath the old Tenth Street subway line. Dollars to donuts, the seismic devices are somewhere along there.”  
  
John nodded agreement, but for once it was Oliver speaking up, sounding nearly at awe. “I know where at least one is.”  
  
“Where?” Felicity asked.  
  
“The station nearest Pucket Street.” Noticing the four eyes full of question on him, he explained. “That’s were Merlyn’s wife was killed. Felicity, can you pull up the map of the subway line again, please?”  
  
“Sure.” She needed a moment to do so, but once it appeared on her screen and Pucket Street was localized, both men agreed that the second device must be somewhere near Desmond Avenue. Felicity could see why they believed that—putting it there, on opposite ends of the Glades, would cause the most damage.  
  
“Okay,” John straightened up again. “What about the transmitter?”  
  
Her eyes on Oliver as he walked to his workbench, Felicity answered, “It can set the machines off, if they are active.”  
  
“So, that’s something that Merlyn should have on him,” John reasoned.  
  
“I agree,” Oliver stated, opening the green box.  
  
“That doesn’t matter if I deactivate the devices. I told you I can turn them off for good,” Felicity reminded.  
  
“The transmitter,” Oliver suddenly had a bow in his hand. He focused on it, as he asked, “can it also turn the devices off?”  
  
“Yes,” Felicity answered, distracted by what he was doing. “I thought Merlyn broke your bow.”  
  
“I have another.” He slowly turned to face them. Once again he was positioned at the other end of the Foundry, furniture separating them. They were right back to where they had started this meeting and suddenly it was as if the revelations of the last minutes hadn’t happened, as if Moira hadn’t revealed the Undertaking, as if Walter hadn’t agreed to come back to Starling City, as if Thea hadn’t confessed that she knew her brother was underneath the green hood, as if they hadn’t located the Markov-devices.  
  
They were right back to a huge gap separating her and Oliver, back to Oliver being all detached business.  
  
“John, I need you in the subway. Felicity, I need you to teach him how to disable those machines.”  
  
“What?!” Felicity didn’t understand. “But the plan—”  
  
“I made a plan,” he told them, matter-of-factly. “John’s mission is the devices, mine is Merlyn and the transmitter.”  
  
“You want to take on Merlyn by yourself?” John asked in disbelief.  
  
“I have to.”  
  
“No,” John objected, “you don’t.”  
  
“Yes, I do.”  
  
Felicity got out of her seat. “But,” she sputtered, “he might kill you.”  
  
“I know,” Oliver admitted, speaking quietly. “He’s beaten me twice. I don’t know if I can stop him.” He looked at John. “That’s why I need you in the subway.”  
  
Hearing Oliver say those words was like being drenched in ice water to Felicity. Each word felt like a slap in the face. With it came clarity, because suddenly things were pushed into place. Suddenly, she understood what had really happened between them, why he had asked her to go home with him, why he had retreated with her.  
  
He had been saying goodbye.  
  
It had been his own twisted version of a farewell.  
  
And suddenly she knew what she had seen in his eyes without recognizing it because it was so unfamiliar: regret.  
  
Understanding made her furious. She vibrated with the anger collecting inside her, staring at him while he avoided eye contact. Felicity had never met Robert Queen but in this moment she hated his martyr complex that had obviously rubbed off on Oliver. Sacrificing yourself for others wasn’t noble, it was stupid. It was stupid to enter a fight he couldn’t win when there was no need to. There were three of them, they could make a plan together, do this right, without anybody possibly _dying_.  
  
She opened her mouth to tell him all of that, but the utter aggravation inside her, the disbelief that the man she loved with everything she had would be so utterly _stupid_ , muted her. All she could do was stare at him, her hands curling into fists. Lacking words caused her to go for non-vocal communication. Without really thinking about it, she grabbed the one thing in reach and threw it at Oliver with the strength added by anger.  
  
The notebook flew across the room. Oliver caught it before it hit his nose. That was a pretty perfect throw for somebody with as horrible aim as hers, but Felicity wasn’t in the right state of mind to even acknowledge that.  
  
Instead she found her voice, “No!”  
  
“Fe—”  
  
“NO!” she yelled at him. “I’m so mad at you right now. I cannot believe I’m married to an idiot. A moronic idiot, I agreed to marry again. That makes me Mrs. Moron—and I’m too smart for that. You’re dumbing me down.” She shook her head, aggravated. “I hope you know that I’m keeping this PG, because I’m so fucking mad at you and your STUPIDITY!”  
  
“Fel—”  
  
“Shut UP! Just be quiet!” She took a deep breath and glared at him. “Do you know what Thea just told me? That you and I were a good team. And here you go and prove her wrong by being all lone wolf and—”  
  
“Stupid,” Oliver cut in. “I get it.” He still stood stiffly next to the workbench, the notebook in his hand. “But I need to confront Merlyn. We can’t let him get away. He needs to be stopped, he needs to pay.”  
  
“Agreed,” John cut into the spousal conversation, calmly. “But you don’t have to do it alone,” John stressed. “You offered your help with Deadshot and I promised you we’d get Merlyn. So this time, bring something you didn’t have the last two times. … Me.”  
  
Oliver shook his head. “I can’t let you.”  
  
“I can’t let you go into this alone, man. Not since you brought me into this. Felicity’s right: we’re a good team. We’ve your back many times. You need to use everything you got against Merlyn. Besides—army regulations: a soldier never lets a brother go into battle alone.”  
  
The last sentence caused a shift inside Oliver, a certain amount of relaxation, of calming down. It transported an unspoken message Felicity didn’t grasp, but she saw that it spurred Oliver into making a decision.  
  
“I’m out of bows,” he said.  
  
“I got my gun,” John answered.  
  
The men stared at each other in another one of those moments of silent understanding. Felicity watched them, witnessed them coming to the unspoken agreement that John’s suggestion was accepted while she felt oddly left out—mainly because the men were so calm and collected while she was still angry.  
  
“Okay,” she said, curt and edgy. “Guess that means I dismantle the devises.”  
  
Oliver took a step toward her. “No. This whole area is ground zero and I want you out of here.”  
  
“Let me quote my grandma’s favorite band to make this clear to you: you can’t always get what you want.”  
  
“Feli—”  
  
Crossing her arms over her chest she fixated him, coldly. “My life. My choice.”  
  
“Are you….” He stared at her. “Are you going Felicity Queen on me?”  
  
“That’s how we do it today, isn’t it? Keep each other at arm’s length?”  
  
“That’s not what I did,” he defended.  
  
“That’s _exactly_ what you did!” She took an accusing step toward him. “You made the decision to sacrifice yourself. That probably seemed really noble to you. But it’s just dumb! It’s _bullshit_! You decided without me, you shut me out.”  
  
“Felicity, I need to confront Merlyn. He killed my father. I can’t let him get away.”  
  
“I know!”  
  
Her answer seemed to slap Oliver across the face. He inhaled sharply, but said nothing.  
  
“Shocker!” Felicity couldn’t help the unhelpful sarcasm. She took a deep breath before continuing. “What made you think I’d stop you from doing what you needed to do? When I didn’t stop you from buying drugs from a crazy drug lord. What made you think that I wouldn’t support you and help you find a way to do this? I helped you break into Merlyn Global. I was ready to help you kill Deadshot. I think all of this kind of gets me full marks on the perfect wife scale. Okay… I admit, it doesn’t sounds good when I say it out loud, but…” She inhaled sharply, steadying herself. “My point is: this isn’t just your family’s wrongs. It’s _our_ family. You said we were a team when you proposed. And then you go and shut me out. You didn’t ask for my help, didn’t try to find a way to stop the Undertaking in a smart way. You just got in your own head and made a stupid plan that includes you most likely _dying_. Do you know how many people I’ve lost? Because I’ve lost a lot of people I loved.”  
  
He swallowed, heavily. Unease coated his words when he forced out. “I know, Felicity. I know that.”  
  
“Then why did you insist on turning me into a widow? Really this time.”  
  
Oliver looked at her. “Merlyn said I couldn’t beat him because I didn’t know what I was willing to sacrifice. But he’s wrong. There’s nothing I want more than a future with you. It’s the thing I want most and I’m willing to sacrifice it.”  
  
Felicity looked at him, feeling unbelievably sad. “Why do we have to be something you sacrifice? Why can’t we be something you fight for?”  
  
His mouth fell open as he looked at her, seemingly hit hard by her question. They stared at each other for a long moment, a gap and a med table between them.  
  
“Okay.” John had retreated slightly during their argument, but now he slowly walked toward them. “You two need to make up.” It was a matter-of-fact statement, spoken without any accusation. “I know from experience that you can’t go into battle after a fight like this. You need to fix this—and then we need to get going. It’s nearly six already.”  
  
Oliver nodded slowly and Felicity could practically see him search for words. But she didn’t want his apology, because both of them saying ‘I’m sorry’ wouldn’t change a thing, wouldn’t fix anything or ease their minds. It would also be a lie on Felicity’s part, because she meant everything she had just said.  
  
“No,” Felicity objected to John’s advice. “This fight doesn’t change the main thing.” She looked at Oliver. “I love you. I want to marry you again. I want this future with you. But I’m disappointed, and you’ve hurt me. We’ll fix that—when you come back. So, _come back to me_.”  
  
Instantly, a softness crept into his features that he normally reserved for very private moments between just the two of them. He met her eyes and she could see acceptance there and appreciation. A small smile lit up his face for a second and he nodded.  
  
Turning serious again, he studied her. She could practically feel him think—and make a decision. He walked toward her slowly. “We need to get you back-up. There are two devices underground. You shouldn’t go down there alone.”  
  
Momentarily stunned, she watched him stop opposite her. The deeper meaning behind his words was clear, blinking bright at her: he was accepting her help, letting her in and do her part, agreeing to real team work, daring to put her in danger while facing danger himself. This was him jumping over his shadow, deep black and huge, making the first step to fix things.  
  
“What about Roy?” John suggested.  
  
“No,” Felicity shook her head. “Thea needs him unharmed.”  
  
“I agree,” Oliver said. “We need somebody who’s used to staying calm in dangerous situations. Somebody who cares about saving this city and who’s proven he’s willing to look the other way for the greater good.”  
  
Knowing who Oliver was referring to, Felicity shook her head. “I’m sure Lance is busy evacuating the Glades.” Silently, she let her eyes travel over her husband. The strained tension had vanished. Instead a confident certainty gathered around him. He was preparing for a fight and getting his head in the game, she could see it in the way he held his shoulders, read it in the determination shining in his eyes. Reliance started surrounding him and it wrapped around Felicity, too.  
  
She looked up at him and before she could say anything, tell him who she believed her perfect backup to be, he nodded at what he knew she was thinking.  
  
“He’s a good choice,” he stated. Their eyes were connected and he touched his lips to hers, gently at first, before his hand moved to her neck, into her hair and he deepened the kiss. Felicity’s eyes fluttered shut as she enjoyed the sensation. Only when she felt his lips leave hers did she open her eyes again, finding his gaze set on her. He sent her a look full of love and thankfulness and accompanied it with a brief smile. Then he let go of her. “Okay, time to stop the Undertaking. As a team.”


	43. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s here. The Undertaking. _Finally_ , don’t you agree?
> 
> I think I should just let you go ahead and read it while I’m waiting over here, preparing for your _words_. I deserve them, I know. The biggest THANK YOU to all you wonderful people sending your support, your love, and your thoughts my way. And thank you for being patient with me. You're amazing. Feel cyber-hugged.
> 
> **Albiona** , thank you for making me better.
> 
> Just so you know: there’s one more chapter after this one. And now, really, _finally_ : the Undertaking. ♥ , Jules.

**May 6 th, 2013**  
  
Oliver was used to changing before starting his night-job. Putting on his green suit, applying his war-paint (Felicity had come to call it that and Oliver preferred that to calling it make-up), and strapping down his freshly stocked quiver were well-practiced actions. It was his normal.  
  
His normal did not include Felicity changing outfits.  
  
His bow in hand, he waited next to Diggle, ready to get to Merlyn Global, when Felicity returned from the backroom wearing jeans and sneakers. He couldn’t help his mouth opening slightly at the unfamiliar sight. This most ordinary outfit drove home the knowledge how extraordinary his wife was—and strangely it even increased the seriousness of the situation.  
  
Felicity choosing to forgo her high heels was a clear sign of impending doom.  
  
He stared at her, trying to remember if he had ever seen her wear pants that weren’t sportswear.  
  
“Stop looking at me like that.” She reached for the red coat she had draped over the defibrillator (he had decided against buying a coat rack for the Foundry). “Entering an abandoned subway tunnel in stilettos is hardly reasonable.” She slipped the coat on and headed to the workbench. “And disarming an earthquake machine feels like one of the few moments when the chance of meeting paparazzi’s small.” She slipped pliers into her pocket. “At least I hope so.” She took her tablet, shaking her head. “God, I really hope so.”  
  
“Okay,” Diggle said, stuffing his gun into its holster. “Let’s move.”  
  
Together the three of them left the Foundry and stepped into the twilight created by the last sunrays creeping past the buildings around them. The heavy metal door slammed shut behind Oliver; John turned to Felicity. The soldier pulled her in for a hug. “Be careful, okay? Don’t do anything stupid.”  
  
“Okay,” Felicity answered. “And, please, listen to your own advice.”  
  
They shared one last meaningful look. Glancing at Oliver, Diggle motioned to his car. “I’ll meet you at Merlyn Global.”  
  
Again, Oliver didn’t say anything but only nodded, indicating that, yes, they’d meet there. Hearing his partner walk away, he turned to his wife. A small smile playing around her lips, she held her tablet out to him. He took it and she cupped his face with both hands, making him meet her eyes. “Just so you know: if you die, you’ll have failed this marriage.”  
  
Inhaling soundly, his lips curved into the ghost of a smile. His free hand flew to her neck and he kissed her, closing his eyes, enjoying the feeling and the simplicity of this moment, telling her of his love.  
  
Reluctantly, he ended the kiss. He knew he should say something, tell her that he believed in her and her skills, that he didn’t doubt her for one moment, that he knew she could handle deactivating the devices. And he did believe all of that. He wouldn’t have agreed to her going into the subway if he didn’t. It had been his way of acknowledging everything she had said, agreeing to it, and accepting her terms. But that didn’t mean that he didn’t worry, that he could light-heartedly send her off into danger. He stared at her, trying to find a way to tell her all of this without shredding the state of mind he needed for the upcoming fight.  
  
“I promise,” she spoke up, “I’ll do this quickly and efficiently. I got this.” She pecked him. “I’ll keep my end of the com-line open. I’m just one push of a button away. Please, don’t worry about me. I need your head in the game, okay?” A teasing smirk flashed up on her face. “Head on a swivel.”  
  
A chuckle escaped him before he could stop it. A sports’ metaphor! What a proud moment. “Felicity,” he breathed, “you’re remarkable.”  
  
She smiled at him and brought both hands to his hood, pulling it up and into position. Looking up at him, she said in a soft voice, barely more than a breath, “I love you.”  
  
Oliver knew: this could be goodbye. They were parting, going their separate ways to do things that could go very wrong in very different but equally lethal ways. It was this knowledge that made his lips move and gave him the ability to get the words out that were so often stuck in his throat. “I love you.”  
  
She pecked him, and it was so unfamiliar to be under his hood and still feel like her husband. Inhaling noisily, he gave himself another second to memorize her beautiful face, her eyes shining with love, trust, and determination before he handed the tablet back to her. She sent him one last smile that was all encouragement and walked to her little red car.  
  
Rooted into position, he watched Felicity buckle up. The engine came to life, the lights switched on, and the Mini started to move. Oliver didn’t wave. She didn’t blow him a kiss. His eyes were on her until the car left the small alley next to Verdant and pulled onto the street. He exhaled deliberately and walked to his bike. Time to do this.  
  
__________________________________________  
  
John Diggle was perfect backup for Oliver Queen. When going to battle you took a soldier with you, a cool, battle-practiced, reasonable, skilled fighter. John was all of that, hence the perfection.  
  
Felicity Queen’s requirements for perfection were different. She needed a quick thinker with technical understanding and steady hands. She needed somebody she could trust with this mission and all the secrets that came with it—and there was only one person fitting this description.  
  
But as Felicity steered her little red car through the streets of the Glades, she wondered if she had done the right thing, asking her friend to jump into this sea of chaos that washed around her with steadily rising waves. Driving past a Tech Village, Felicity saw that the front window of the computer store was trashed, shards spreading out over the sidewalk.  
  
Apparently, an impending natural disaster caused by technology was the perfect moment to steal hardware.  
  
And, apparently, close catastrophes called for somebody to set things on fire. Its smell entered her car even though the windows were up. Trashcans were burning brightly and quite a few cars had already been torched. Running people filled up the sidewalk and spilled out onto the street, panicked and heedless, some screaming. The resulting menacing atmosphere made Felicity’s heart drum.  
  
Yongtak Chan was perfect backup for Felicity Queen, but now Felicity regretted getting him involved. She had chosen to be here, she needed to be here to stop a mass murder supported by her mother-in-law, enabled by a company she had bought, attached to her family name. But Yongtak Chan didn’t need to come down here and endanger himself. But her Number One, her trusted adviser and friend hadn’t even hesitated when she had called him. All it took was one sentence (“Tak, I know where the earthquake devices are and I need your help disarming one”) and the master coder had snapped into action (“Tell me when and where”). He was out there, on his way to Desmond Avenue, because he was amazing. **  
  
** Felicity turned a corner and a gasp escaped her lips. Her car fishtailed as she stomped on the brakes. Her hands tightened around the steering wheel, her body tensed, seemingly readying for an impending crash, but her Mini came to a halt before hitting the two vehicles blocking the road. A bus and a pickup had crashed into each other. Her heart tapped harder as Felicity sat in the driver’s seat, blowing out a puff of air, trying to calm down after this near-accident. She looked into her rearview-mirror and saw that a car stood right behind her, the driver looking as shocked as she did.  
  
Her car was effectively trapped. Taking a deep breath, Felicity reached for her tablet and a flashlight. She got out of her car and took the time to lock it following a habitual automatism, even though she knew the chances of her beloved Mini surviving this night were slim. Not sparing it another glance – she had to stop an earthquake, worrying about lifeless objects didn’t help one bit – she started walking.  
  
She made it two steps.  
  
Two men stepped in front of her, blocking her way. Both looked like normal, harmless guys: jeans, t-shirt, sneakers, shaven, and clean. One of them wore a red cap with a black cat head on the front, outing him as a football fan (even though, the current Starling City Panthers were the worst team this city had suffered through in the last twenty years according to Oliver Queen, John Diggle, Marcus Grant, and Christopher Willis). The other was an attendee of Starling City College according to the pin attached to the strap of his backpack. But the way both men glared at Felicity didn’t seem harmless at all.  
  
“I know you!” College-guy said, nearly shouting. “You’re that Queen Bitch.”  
  
_The first time I go out without supervision and THAT happens. It’s official: Oliver’s never going to let me go anywhere alone ever again._ Felicity didn’t give herself a moment to wonder how this could be her first thought and hurried to shake her head. “You’re mistaken.”  
  
“No!” Panthers-fan objected aggressively. “Your family wants to kill us.”  
  
“My family doesn’t want to kill anybody. We’re very peaceful people.” The supposed student reached for Felicity’s coat, pulling her toward him, causing more words to tumble out of her mouth in a rushed fashion. “Okay, that’s a lie. We’re not all pacifists. But I’m a very peaceful person. I didn’t even manage to get to those self-defense classes I paid for. And that’s a huge pity, because I see now how important those are!”  
  
The guy raised his fist and Felicity could practically feel it connecting with her face (it would hurt, she knew that from experience) when suddenly his grip on her loosened. Felicity stumbled to the side, but caught herself before falling. Straightening up again, she saw the student laying on the ground and Panthers-fan being forced backward by a well-aimed kick. It took Felicity another second to understand that she was witnessing Roy Harper, Thea’s boyfriend, a boy in a red hoodie with Abercrombie-looks, knocking two guys out. A few seconds later the fight was over.  
  
“What are you doing here?” Roy glared at her.  
  
She glared right back. “What are _you_ doing here? Oliver told you to get out of the Glades and to our apartment!”  
  
“Seriously?” he asked. “You’re snapping at me after I saved your ass?”  
  
“Yes, because I promised Thea that we’d look after _your_ ass!”  
  
Reaching for her arm, Roy pulled her along. “You need to get out of here, back to the good side of town.”  
  
He was dragging her into the wrong direction, she realized, and ripped her arm free. “No!”  
  
“It’s too dangerous for you here.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Does Oliver know you’re here? I bet he doesn’t. He’d throw a fit.”  
  
Oh! Suddenly he was besties with her husband? Shaking that thought out of her head, she instead remembered her promise to be quick and efficient. Fighting with Roy was neither. “I don’t have time for this. Get to safety, Roy.” Turning around, she started running (sneakers—they might not tone her legs the way heels did, but they were damn practical).  
  
Felicity wasn’t really surprised when Roy caught up with her. “Where are you going?” he demanded to know.  
  
Evading people, Felicity turned right into a slightly smaller street—the sign labeled it Pucket Street. “I know where the earthquake machines are. I can disable them.” She sped her steps up. **  
  
** “What?” Roy gasped and kept running with her.  
  
Reaching their destination in a dead-end, Felicity noticed that he was more out of breath than she wa (who would have thought her morning jogs would come in handy on a mission to stop mass murder). They stood in front of the boarded-up entrance, a dirty subway sign above it. Roy didn’t hesitate. He kicked the old wooden boards, creating a hole and making a way for them to get through.  
  
Darkness welcomed them and Felicity switched the flashlight on, just as her phone rang. Holding the flashlight out to Roy, who took it wordlessly, Felicity pressed a button on the cable connected to the earplug. “Yes?”  
  
_“Fe, man.”_ Yongtak’s voice sounded hollow, showing Felicity that he was in the subway already. _“Didn’t you say the thing was close to Desmond Street? I feel like I’ve been walking since forever. Did you find yours yet?”_  
  
“No,” Felicity admitted. “I was delayed.”  
  
_“I feel like James Bond. Like James Bond close to shitting his pants, though.”_ There was an unmistakable quiver in his voice. Felicity would relate—even though she had to admit that having Roy by her side calmed her down a little. _“Distract me, before I freak out,”_ Tak requested. **  
  
** The cone created by the flashlight ~~s~~ wept slowly left and right, revealing the abandoned tracks filled with gravel, and tiled walls. She quickly glanced at her tablet and pointed to the left. Roy signaled understanding with a nod. Yongtak's slightly wavering voice hit Felicity’s ear again. _“Felicity?”_  
  
Digging her brain, ignoring her own heavily beating heart, Felicity tried to think of something to get a distracting conversation going. “This morning Keisha told Oliver she was up for a challenge. Do you think the family of her CEO being involved in a plan for mass murder is enough of a challenge?” Felicity asked, following the tracks with Roy by her side. “This feels like it could be a PR-disaster.”  
  
_“Nobody said being a Firestormer was easy.”_ A shrug was practically audible in Tak’s statement. _“Plus, your mother-in-law came clean. I can see the spinning potential. Especially if we disable these things.”_ He hesitated. _“You’re sure there’re here, right?”  
  
_ “I am.”  
  
_“How?”_ Tak asked. **  
  
** “Malcolm Merlyn planned this—and his wife was killed near Pucket Street. He has two devices and placing them underground, opposite each other, on this tectonic fold would cause the most damage.”  
  
Silence followed, seeming even deeper in this environment, with the echoes of her last horrible statement billowing away. Felicity looked at Roy who stared at her with a stricken expression on his face. “You can leave if you want to.” She told Roy. “Seriously, I think you shoul—”  
  
“No.” Forcefully, he shook his head.  
  
_“Fe, who are you talki—”_ Yongtak stopped mid-sentence to gasp. _“Holy fucking shit.”_ Another moment of nothing brought threatening tension. It was ripped apart by Tak sounding honestly excited. _“For a weapon of mass-destruction this thing looks fucking cool.”  
  
_ “There!” Roy pointed at something further ahead. “Is that it?”  
  
A dim blue glow cut through the darkness. Felicity and Roy walked quicker, the gravel crunching under their feet and with each step they took the glow brightened.  
  
_“Fe,”_ Tak said, sounding in awe. _“This thing is sick.”_  
  
It was. It really was awfully impressive, but Felicity couldn’t get swept away by it, by the sleek design and the masterful technical. Swallowing all praise, Felicity focused on the danger that this device represented and on the promise she had given. _Quick and efficient_ , she reminded herself. “Okay,” she took a deep breath and positioned herself right in front of the Markov-device. “Let’s do this.”  
  
________________________________________  
  
The last two times Oliver had been at Merlyn Global’s headquarters the elevators had been out of order. Shooting down a gaping shaft, only secured by a thin cable, felt like a very fitting way for a vigilante to enter a building.  
  
Standing in a cabin with soft piano music playing honestly didn’t.  
  
Oliver couldn’t help but feel like a joke as the elevator took him upward. His hood up and bow in hand, he was frozen into position and stared at the floor, avoiding the mirror-covered walls around him. Next to him, equally silent and immobile, John Diggle waited for them to arrive at their destination. Admittedly, it was a comfortable and quick way to reach the twenty-fifth floor, but it still felt stupid. **  
  
** Luckily, the chances of somebody waiting for them once the doors opened were small. The whole building lay abandoned. The revolving door to the lobby still worked but the atrium was empty, as were the front desk and the security office. People had fled from this fortress of power built by a man branded as a maniac. But said maniac was still here. Oliver was sure of that and Diggle agreed. This building was the perfect place for Malcolm Merlyn to be: it provided him with a front row seat to the destruction he had orchestrated.  
  
The sinking feeling in his stomach told Oliver that they had reached their destination. Tightening his shoulders, he raised his bow in time for the doors to soundlessly slide open. He sent Diggle a quick glance, and the soldier gave him the go with a small nod.  
  
Exiting the elevator first, Oliver led the way. He walked slowly, carefully, soundlessly down the hall towardMerlyn’s office, past the spot where he had passed out only yesterday under the relentless kicks of the man waiting for him around the corner. He forced himself not to dwell on that and was glad for the distraction that came in the form of an angry shout.  
  
“You sick son of a bitch!”  
  
Quentin Lance’s curse rang down the hall. Oliver stiffened and tightened his grip on his bow. The detective was not supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to insult a man who could kill him with one hand and without breaking a sweat.  
  
“Quentin,” Merlyn sounded more amused than anything, “it is not my fault you didn’t do your job. If you and your colleagues had cleaned up the Glades I wouldn’t be forced to do this.”  
  
“So, what?!” Lance said, mockingly. “You’ll just kill all—”  
  
“YES!” The yell sounded like pure hatred. “THEY DESERVE TO DIE!”  
  
“I won’t let you do this.”  
  
Hearing Lance’s statement, Oliver walked rounded the corner with Diggle following. “Neither will I,” The Hood growled, drawing the attention of the other two men. “Stop this madness, Merlyn.”  
  
The arrow aimed at Merlyn’s heart, even though Oliver was very sure it would never reach its destination. Oliver had experienced the reflexes of the man standing on the right side of the room, wearing his black outfit without the hood that only revealed his eyes. A smile played around Merlyn’s lips as he stood, facing the floor-to-wall windows granting him a perfect view at the nighttime city.  
  
Lance had his back to the glass. Facing Merlyn, the detective had drawn his gun, holding it high with his right arm stretched out and supported by his left, just like it was taught at the police academy. Oliver and Diggle stopped by the door, leaving some space between themselves and the other two men—space that was filled with four lifeless bodies. Their thick body armor plus the heavy machine guns next to them identified them as members of SCPD’s SWAT. They probably never stood a chance. Ignoring the spilled blood of good men pooling around shards of glass, Oliver concentrated on his only target: Malcom Merlyn. **  
  
** The man simply laughed, superior and mocking. “You? _Again?_ When will you ever learn, Oliver?” He turned to Lance, but gestured to the man with the green hood. “You were right, of course. The scumbag killing your daughter’s the vigilante. He was hardly subtle about it.”  
  
The gun in Quentin Lance’s hands had been steady before, now the barrel started shaking slightly. It fit the anger vibrating in the detective’s. “Moira Queen said you killed her husband. That made me wonder: how could you do that when he drowned in the North China Sea?” Not taking his eyes off the other man, he addressed The Hood. “Tell me, Queen. Why did that boat you took my daughter on sink? Was it really a storm?”  
  
This was proof that Quentin Lance was a smart man and a good detective who knew how to ask the right questions, but Oliver couldn’t answer any of them now. It wasn’t the right moment to discuss all this, open wounds worse than the ones this father who had lost his daughter had already suffered. Finding out the truth would cause the detective to snap, pull the trigger, and become a murderer in his revenge—or at least attempt to become one, because Oliver was sure that the bullet would never hit Merlyn. But Quentin Lance wasn’t a murderer, Oliver knew, and he wouldn’t let Lance become one. “Detective,” The Hood’s changed voice urged, “you need to leave and let us deal with him.”  
  
“Not a storm then.” The detective pursed his lips. **  
  
** “Quentin.” Malcolm dared a smile. “We are family, I w—” **  
  
** “We’re NOT family!” Lance spat that sentence. **  
  
** “Of course, we are. Your daughter’s my daughter-in-law. I love her like the daughter I never… had.”  
  
“SHUT UP!” Lance was seething. “Leave Laurel out of this. And Tommy. The poor kid. It’s a miracle he managed to become a decent human being!” **  
  
** “Detective,” Oliver urged, walking to the right, further into the room, giving Diggle a clear line of sight at Merlyn. “You need to back off.”  
  
“Yes, Quentin.” Merlyn was way too amused by this situation. “Listen to the boy. I nearly killed him twice and he has basic knowledge of hand-to-hand-combat.”  
  
“I can pull the trigger faster than you can move.”  
  
“No,” Oliver said, willing the detective to believe him, “you really can’t.” **  
  
** “He’s right!” The last letter had barely passed Merlyn’s lips when his hands were already a blur. With a flick of his wrist he sent two blades on their way; they cut through the air with a nearly silky sound that was ended by a grunt as they sank into the detective’s thigh. Lance’s right leg gave out instantly. He crashed to the ground, letting go of his gun, his hands flying to his leg. **  
  
** Merlyn was already heading toward an adjoining room, hidden behind a movable wall. Simultaneously, Oliver and Diggle followed him, but Merlyn waited for them right behind the threshold, greeting Oliver with a fist. Oliver stumbled back, only for Diggle to engage Merlyn instead, catching the CEO by surprise and landing at hit. But Merlyn recovered quickly, dodged a blow, and sent Diggle backward with a forceful kick. By then Oliver was ready again, landing a punch with his fist closed around his bow only for his next hit to be redirected. But Diggle was back up, taking over. Malcolm was good, very, very good, but together Oliver and John kept up with him. They fought back, alternating their attacks, complementing each other, pushing further away from the door and into this tiny room that stored his secret identity.  
  
Suddenly a shot rang through the room. The three fighting men froze. **  
  
** “Malcolm Merlyn. You’re under arrest.” Lance leaned against the wall, blood leaking past the two blades sticking in his thigh and flowing down his leg. He was pale and sweating. His hand holding the gun aimed at Merlyn shook badly.  
  
The distraction was all Merlyn needed: the edge of his hand slammed against Diggle’s Adam’s apple, causing him to snap for air and his hands to fly to his throat. Merlyn’s foot connected with Oliver’s chest, slamming him into the wall so forcefully that all air was knocked out of his lungs. Oliver heard another grunt, a yell of pain that came from the exit leading to the office next door and forced himself to get to his feet again. He rushed to John who was still gasping for air but waved his hand in a way that was a clear order for Oliver to follow Merlyn. He stressed that by forming a soundless “GO”. Oliver didn’t hesitate. Jumping over Quentin Lance, who lay spread out on the floor, Oliver ran out of the secret room, following the clear sounds of his opponent’s flight.  
  
_______________________________________  
  
The digital numbers on the display were both helpful and not helpful at all. Because while it was good to know that they had ten minutes and forty-two seconds left until the Markov-device would set off a shattering earthquake, the knowledge that only ten minutes and forty-one seconds separated them from being buried underneath tons of debris really added a lot of pressure. An awful lot of pressure. **  
  
** Forcing herself not to crumble under it, Felicity Queen asked, “What does your display say?”  
  
_“Ten minutes, thirty-eight seconds.”_ Tak answered through the com-connection, telling Felicity that both devices were perfectly synchronized. Yongtak sounded thoughtful. _“Okay, I see three wires: green, yellow, blue. The blue one’s connected to something that looks like a battery….”  
  
_ “DON’T cut it!” Felicity rushed out. “It will only speed up the timer.”  
  
_“I was just thinking out loud!”_ Tak huffed, but Felicity knew her friend well enough to hear the caught undertone in his voice, telling her she had kept him from doing something stupid. _“So tell me, how do we disable this thing?”_  
  
“Please, give me a minute.”  
  
_“A minute?”_  
  
“We have ten left.”  
  
_“Just so you know: if I die, Chris will kill you.”_  
  
“Awesome, great. Thanks for telling me that. Because there’s really not enough pressure already.” Felicity forced herself to take a deep breath. It didn’t help at all. Looking at her tablet, she studied the displayed blueprints of the device shortly, compared them to the actual wiring in front of her, and didn’t find any divergence. She held the tablet out to Roy who stood next to her silently. “I’ll do this first. Tak, if I don’t set this thing off you go next.” She glanced at Roy, “You’re sure you want to stay?”  
  
“Absolutely. As far as Thea told me, you’re Brainiac-Barbie. So, do it.”  
  
“Thea would never call me that,” Felicity huffed, but decided not to waste any more time. She reached for the pliers and focused on the wiring in front of her. “Okay, I’m cutting the blue and the green wire at the same time in three… two… one.” **  
  
** Closing her hand, she cut the wires with the softest ‘clock.’ The steady buzzing filling the tunnel suddenly changed, turning higher for a second, causing the hair on Felicity’s neck to stand up. Then it stopped.  
  
It simply stopped.  
  
Silence surrounded them and with it came darkness. The lights of the Markov-device switched off as it powered down, the display turning black. That was anticlimactic in the best way imaginable. Felicity let a huff of air out. “It worked,” she whispered, feeling Roy take a shaky breath next to her. **  
  
**_“Thank God!”_ Tak sounded honestly relieved. _“Green and blue, you say?”_  
  
“Yes. At the same time.”  
  
Nervous, she glanced at Roy, saying a silent prayer that both devices were wired identically. Her heart was tapping heavily in her chest. All she could do was wait, immobile and anxious, listening to the silence hitting her ear from the other end of the com-connection. The seconds seemed to stretch, turning longer and longer like bubble gum, causing Felicity’s heartbeat to increase even more. What was taking him so long? It couldn’t have taken Felicity _that_ long. She was sure of that!  
  
_“So, that’s what preventing mass murder feels like. Not bad, I must say. Not bad!”_  
  
Letting her head fall back, Felicity stared at the darkness above her and just breathed, willing the tears of utter relief not to fall.  
  
_“Fe?”_ Tak said quietly. _“Are you still there?”_ **  
  
** “Yes,” she hurried to say, calming her friend’s worries. “All good. I’m just…. All is good.”  
  
_“Let’s get out of here.”_  
  
Roy directed the cone of the flashlight back on the machine. “Can we just leave it here?”  
  
“It’s too heavy to carry,” Felicity answered and started walking. “I’ll call the police and tell them where to find them.”  
  
Roy nodded silent agreement and together they started moving, following the tracks. They walked in silence. The lack of conversation suddenly made Felicity uneasy. Getting Roy involved had never been part of the plan. In fact, she had deliberately decided against asking for his help. Now that the danger had passed, Felicity had to admit that taking him down to the tunnel with her had been selfish. She should have insisted stronger, should have shaken him, shouldn’t have given in to the comforting feeling of having somebody by her side in the blackness of this subway tunnel. She needed to make up a believable story about why she was down here, one that didn’t involve the vigilante that, according to Thea, Roy already worshipped. Could Moira have told her about all of this? She kind of had, now that Felicity thought about it. It— **  
  
** “I visited Thea last Saturday.”  
  
Surprised, Felicity left her hurried and worried thoughts behind and turned to Roy. “Yes,” she jumped on the offered topic. “I heard. How was she?”  
  
“Not good, but good.”  
  
“What does that mean?”  
  
“She said detoxing was rough. She said her hair hurt. That’s not good, but she made that joke, so… that’s good.”  
  
Felicity smiled sadly. “I get what you mean. Thea called me earlier. She saw Moira’s press conference. She sounded surprisingly good.”  
  
“Seriously?” Roy frowned. **  
  
** “Probably signs of shock, but professionals were with her. They’ll take care of her. But she was worried about you, Roy. Asked us to get you out of the Glades.” Felicity sighed. “I guess you being here with me counts as an epic fail.” **  
  
** “Oliver tried. He used his serious voice on me.”  
  
“Yeah,” Felicity said flatly. “That rarely works.” She frowned. “Did we walk this long earlier?”  
  
“No,” Roy said, gesturing behind himself. “But we came the other way.”  
  
“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”  
  
“Because you’re really intimidating, you know.” **  
  
** Laughter rang through the tunnel. “Yeah, for a brainy Barbie, Felicity’s really tough.”  
  
Roy stiffened next to Felicity and raised the flashlight—only to blind Tak standing fifty meters away. Yongtak brought his hand up to shield his eyes and used the other to wave them over. “Here’s an exit.” **  
  
** Walking toward him, Felicity frowned. “What are you doing here?” Her question was drowned out by the sound of wood bursting as Yongtak kicked wooden boards barricading the exit. Quickening her steps, she headed toward her friend, already hurrying up long forgotten stairs away from the darkness. When Felicity and Roy finally caught up with him, he stood on the sidewalk bent over, his hands on his knees, breathing deeply. Chaos was still all around, fires burning and people screaming. A police car drove past them, an announcement ordering people to leave this district immediately coming out of its speakers.  
  
Stopping next to her friend, Felicity placed her hand on Tak’s back. “Are you okay?”  
  
“Yeah, sorry.” Yongtak straightened up, looking a little sheepish. “I needed air. I felt like I couldn’t breathe down there.”  
  
“What are you doing here anyway?” Felicity asked. “You should be at the other end of the Glades.”  
  
“This was the nearest exit from my machine,” Tak answered. “Mine wasn’t anywhere near where you said it was.”  
  
The blood in Felicity’s veins turned into ice. Feeling hollow suddenly, she stared at Tak. “What?” Her voice sounded empty even in her own ears.  
  
“What’s up?” Roy asked. When she didn’t react, he added a, “Felicity?”  
  
Hearing her name brought back the ability to move. She saw that Roy was still carrying her tablet and ripped it from his hands. Her fingers tapping the surface, Felicity pulled up the subway lines underneath the street map. She showed it to Tak. “Where was the device?”  
  
Carefully, Yongtak studied the map. Finally, he pointed at the corner of Adams and Grant. “Somewhere underneath here, I think.”  
  
Felicity’s thoughts were tripping one another, pushing against each other until only one realization was left. “Three….” It was a shocked whisper fleeing from her lips while she was already mentally drawing invisible lines on the street map, creating a perfect triangle from Pucket Street to Adam and Grant to…. “Oh my God!” Without thinking any further or giving any explanation, Felicity let go of her tablet and stared running. She heard Yongtak and Roy call behind her, but she was already around the corner, running as fast as she could. Her feet drummed on the sidewalk, calling for people to make way. Most were so surprised that they did, those who didn’t were simply pushed out of the way. Felicity didn’t care, she had to get there, had to be quick and efficient. When she had stopped the clock there had still been eight minutes and some change left. If the third device was set like the others, time was really, really running out. She rounded another corner and there it was: her destination.  
  
_______________________________________  
  
With a loud bang Oliver pushed the heavy metal door open. Marching ahead, stepping onto the roof of Merlyn Global’s headquarters, Oliver let go of the bowstring and sent an arrow through the air, directly at Malcolm Merlyn, who managed to simply step out of the way while shooting one of his own arrows at Oliver. **  
  
** Mimicking the other archer, Oliver evaded the arrow, too. Following a certain déjà-vu, Oliver aimed another arrow at his opponent who lazily caught it. With a triumphant grin Merlyn looked at Oliver, mocking him by holding the arrowhead only millimeters from his throat—and then the arrow exploded. During their last fight, Merlyn might have surprised Oliver with this move, with catching his arrow; today he had learned from yesterday’s mistakes.  
  
Running at full speed, Oliver jumped and brought his raised fist down on the other man’s nose. Merlyn took the blow but evaded Oliver’s next punch. Blocking one of Merlyn’s jabs, Oliver tried a kick, bringing more space between himself and his opponent who attacked quickly, relentlessly, aggressively. Circling Oliver, he reached for him from behind, and suddenly Oliver felt Merlyn’s arm around his neck, pressing against his throat, blocking his air and tightening more. **  
  
** “Don’t struggle.” Merlyn’s mouth was right next to Oliver’s ear. The other archer was talking quietly, comfortingly, soothingly.  
  
Oliver couldn’t say how much he hated hearing that tone in his voice.  
  
His hands tore at Merlyn’s arm as he tried to free himself. Oliver’s vision was blurring, white spots danced in front of his eyes and suddenly the empty roof top faded away. Instead, Felicity’s image popped up in front of his inner eye. He could see her perfectly, could recall every tiny detail of her, every little aspect he had burned into his brain this afternoon when he had tried to memorize her perfection, which he had been convinced he had to let go of.  
  
“Don’t worry,” Merlyn’s voice hit his ears while his mind was still on Felicity. “There was never any doubt about the outcome.” He spoke tauntingly. “Your mother and your sister will join you in death—as will your wife. She will be last.”  
  
A smirk was audible in Merlyn’s voice and it made Oliver’s blood boil, but Merlyn’s arm was tight around Oliver’s neck, the white spots multiplying. The memory of Felicity shifted, her naked beauty in his arms disappeared, replaced by the memory of the last time he saw her, not even one hour ago. All he saw was her face. She looked up at him, being so much shorter without her heels, smiling up at him, teasingly proud after using a sports metaphor. There was so much confidence in her sparkling eyes, the belief that he could do this, that he wouldn’t fail their marriage by dying. Her hands reached for his hood, pulled it up, getting him ready to fight, while her lips formed three words. The echo of her “I love you” resonated in his heart. She was his wife, his happy ending, the one he had promised to fight for and come back to.  
  
Oliver blinked. The memory faded but the determination it brought stayed with him. The roof came back into focus and with it the black arrow lying right at his feet.  
  
Fighting harder – against Merlyn’s grip and the impending blackout the white spots signaled – Oliver strained his body to reach the arrow. He gathered every last bit of strength and willpower. Centimeter by centimeter his fingers crept closer to it until they could close around it. His gloved fist held it tightly as he slammed the arrow home—right into Malcolm Merlyn’s neck. **  
  
** Oliver felt the warmth of Merlyn’s blood as it spilled over his hand. The lock around his neck loosened and Oliver fell forward. On all fours he cowered on the roof top, dragging gulps of air into his lungs. Looking up, he saw Diggle by the door, his gun in one hand, holding on to Lance with the other. During the fight Oliver’s hood had fallen back, revealing his war-painted face to the detective who took in the sight carefully. Ignoring the intense stare, Oliver got up from the ground. Looking at Malcolm Merlyn, he forced out, “Thank you for teaching me what I’m fighting for.” He straightened up. “It’s over!” he spat, but felt a shocked chill when he saw the smile on Merlyn’s face. **  
  
** “It’s not.” The CEO retorted. “If I’ve learned anything as a successful businessman, it’s redundancy.”  
  
“We know you have two devices,” Oliver shot back.  
  
The smile stayed on Merlyn’s face. “Well, I believe that all good things come in threes.”  
  
Oliver froze and involuntarily his eyes snapped to Diggle, who headed toward him, helping Lance along. The detective looked pale and sweaty, with two blades still sticking in his legs, but seemingly wasn’t hurt life-threateningly. The bodyguard and the detective, both men heard and understood Merlyn’s statement, it was visible in their faces. Without hesitation, Oliver pressed a button and activated the com-link. “Felicity,” he said and didn’t wait for her to answer. “There are three devices.”  
  
_“I know,”_ she sounded really out of breath, like she was running and in the next moment he heard her shout, _“Everybody out! You need to evacuate!”_ Not even a second of silence followed before she yelled, _“I said GET OUT!”_ **  
  
** Oliver’s eyes met Diggle’s, seeing the worry he felt reflected there. It was also audible in Oliver’s voice as he said, “Felicity?”  
  
But his wife ignored him, instead he heard the voice of her best friend. _“Hon, what are you doing here?”_  
  
_“This is ground zero,”_ Felicity rushed out, urgently. _“We need—”_ **  
  
** The sentence was never finished, cut off by a low rumbling. “No….” The breathless whisper left Oliver’s lips without him noticing. His eyes snapped to the right as he headed closer to the edge of the roof, his eyes glued to the city sprawling out below him. He heard the rumble through his ear-piece, transmitted from the other end of town, but he could also see it far beneath him on the horizon. He saw the earth move, he felt the soft vibration that seemed harmless with the distance separating him from its origin. His mouth fell open as the destruction played out without him being able to do anything about it. He saw buildings crumble and bright red explosions lighting up the night sky. It was a surreal moment coming with a heavy finality. On his side of town the destruction came with an unnatural quiet, but through his ear piece he could hear the sounds of chaos, the crushing of buildings, and the cries of fear before nothing but silence hit his ears. “Felicity?” he said with a fear that nearly instantly turned to panic. “Felicity!” **  
  
** “Go!” Diggle urged. “I’ll stay with Lance and Merlyn. Go!”  
  
Oliver didn’t need to be told again. Far away, the ground was still shaking and Oliver had to get there as quickly as possible. He ran away from his partner, leaving him with a wounded detective, now knowing a secret he wasn’t supposed to discover, and his defeated enemy who was spilling his blood onto the cold rooftop. None of them mattered. He had to get to the one who did.  
  
________________________________________________  
  
Shouting reached Felicity’s ears from far away. They were indistinguishable and meant nothing to her, but they brought her to awareness more and more. She blinked, forcing away the numbing fog slowing her thoughts. Following an inner urge, she took a deep breath—and coughed. The air around her was filled with dust. It was dry and stale and inhaling it hurt. Felicity forced herself to take tiny breaths through her nose as she dared to conduct a mental checkup. **  
  
** She was lying flat on her back. She felt hard ground beneath her and something like a stone poking into her back. Arching, she brushed it away with her hand. This was good news: she could move. Turning her head, she looked around. With it came another positive realization: her glasses were dirty but still intact. She studied her surroundings. Bright red light crept in through a tiny crack behind her head. She couldn’t turn and look directly at it, though. And she became aware of a strong pressure on the lower half of her body. But it didn’t hurt. It took her a few seconds to come up with a good theory: a wall must have come down, trapping her underneath it. But she been lucky, something had stopped it from burying her completely. Tipped about forty-five degrees the barrier spread out above Felicity, further up above her head, creating a hole she was both safe and trapped in.  
  
Fighting the inner urge to try and push against the wall, Felicity reached up and found the ear piece still in place. “Oliver?” she tried. The dust all around left her voice hoarse, but she tried again. “Oliver?” Nothing. Felicity could already sense the lecture she’d have to endure for this. If she didn’t fail their marriage by dying, Oliver would kill her for running _toward_ the third Markov-device. **  
  
** It hadn’t been a conscious decision. Seeing that the third apex of the triangle lay right underneath the Robert Queen Memorial clinic triggered a response within Felicity that she’d had to follow. It fit Malcolm Merlyn that he put the third device under the free clinic replacing the one of his wife he had closed, the clinic that honored the man who had died because he had tried to stop Merlyn’s evil plan. But Felicity hadn’t run to the RQM like a madwoman because of her deceased father-in-law who she had never met. She had raced here to save the people inside this building—and she had known that her best friend was one of them. Kristina Miles would never abandon people in need. Felicity had instantaneously known that Tina was in the clinic—and she had been right. She just hoped her best friend was okay. **  
  
** Even though she knew it was futile, she tried her com a third time (all good things came in threes, after all). She said, a little stronger this time, “Oliver!”  
  
“Felicity?”  
  
Looking toward the direction the voice had come from, Felicity’s head turned to the right. “Tina? Is that you?”  
  
“Yeah. Are you okay?”  
  
“I’m fine. You?”  
  
“I’m good. Can you move your arms, your legs?”  
  
Kristina was using what Felicity always called her ‘nurse-voice.’ It held a certain tone that demanded obedience (which was really good when you were in labor and Tina told you to ‘push’) and it caused Felicity to lift both of her arms even though she had done that before. All good. She flexed her left foot and… realized that she couldn’t do the same with her right. A sudden, strong panic welled up inside her. It still didn’t hurt. That was probably not a good thing, Felicity reasoned. **  
  
** “Felicity?” Tina urged and brought her best friend to her senses. **  
  
** “Yes,” Felicity lied. “All okay.”  
  
“Thank God,” Kristina sighed. “You know, I always thought your mother-in-law was diabolical, but this here seems a bit much, even for her.”  
  
“At least she tried to stop it. Malcolm Merlyn’s the ultimate spawn of evil.” **  
  
** Kristina answered this statement with nothing. A moment of silence followed, then she sighed. “Let’s not talk about that. Let’s talk about nice things. Like your second wedding. I told Rachel that you made me Maid of Honor.” **  
  
** Even though she couldn’t see her, Felicity turned her head toward her friend’s voice, coming from behind a barrier of debris. “You said you were fine with your sister not asking you to be hers.”  
  
“Oh, I am! I’m just pissed that she chose the ugliest bridesmaids dresses imaginable. She’s doing that on purpose. I told her you let me choose any dress I wanted, because you’re not afraid of other people looking good, too.”  
  
“Wow,” Felicity breathed. **  
  
** “I _know_.” Tina sighed. “I don’t know why I always have to compete with my little sister. It’s my biggest flaw. It’s petty and unnecessary when I honestly love her. I want her to be happy.”  
  
“I know you do, Tina,” Felicity assured her. “You should tell her.”  
  
“Yeah. She deserves to be happy. I mean, I’m happy, too. With Marcus, I mean. I love him. I told him last night. I’m so relieved I did.”  
  
Despite the crappy situation, Felicity couldn’t help but smile. “What did he say?”  
  
“That he loved me, too.”  
  
“Aww.” The smiled turned bigger. “I’m so happy for you, Tina. Marcus is such a good guy. You deserve all the happiness in the world.”  
  
“As do you, hon, as do you.”  
  
Again, both females fell quiet for a few heartbeats. This time Felicity ended the gab in conversation. “Okay,” she said with determination. “We need to do something. Do you think I should try to push against the wall lying over me? It might do nothing—or stuff shifts and I’m free… or stuff shifts and we’re in deeper shit than we already are.”  
  
“You decide,” Tina answered. “I don’t think my shit could get deeper.”  
  
“Wha—” **  
  
** “FELICITY!”  
  
Relief flooded Felicity. Knowing he was here made her feel better instantly. “Oliver!” she answered as loud as she could.  
  
She heard debris shift, followed by a strained grunt. The barrier above her shifted. The small crack letting light in grew, the weight on her right leg intensified, but then it vanished as the wall slid to the left, crashing to the floor and breaking into pieces. Oliver’s face was above her before she could really register anything. His hands were on her shoulders, her neck, her head, his eyes scanning her face, her body. “Are you okay?”  
  
Felicity nodded. “Yes,” she assured him, her hands reaching for his arms. “I’m fine.” He seemed frantic, his eyes bouncing all over her. “Really,” she urged, forcing him to meet her eyes. “I’m okay. But Tina,” she motioned to her right. “She’s over there somewhere.”  
  
Oliver’s eyes lingered on her for another searching moment but then he moved. Felicity watched him climb over trashed furniture and debris, calling, “Tina!” Her best friend’s answer (“Over here, Hubby!”) came instantly and Oliver hurried toward her voice. Felicity watched him push something away that might have once been a desk. Bending his knees, he reached for what looked like a pillar and Felicity finally forced herself to get up. It was a struggle. She couldn’t put weight on her right leg, making balance awkwardly on her left. Oliver gasped. And everything else stopped mattering. **  
  
** Sudden dread sparked inside Felicity. She made her way to where Oliver crouched, jumping on her left leg and stumbling like a pinball into the furniture and walls along the way. She finally lost her balance and she fell to her knees next to her best friend. “Tina,” she breathed, her voice shaky as her eyes trailed over the brunette’s bloody face and further down. A rod protruded from Kristina’s stomach, slicing through her body. **  
  
** Felicity’s eyes snapped up to meet her best friend’s. “Tell me what to do.”  
  
“Hon….”  
  
“NO.” Felicity’s voice was both loud and weak at the same time. “You’re a nurse!” she reminded, her vision suddenly blurred by tears. “Talk me through it, tell me what to do.”  
  
A sad smile showed on Tina’s face. “Be happy.” **  
  
** Frantically, Felicity shook her head, spilling the tears from her eyes. “No, no, no, no,” she objected. “There has to be something we can do. Don’t give up.”  
  
“Please, tell Marcus and Rachel what I said, okay?” Tina’s voice was turning weaker. “Promise me.”  
  
“Tina,” Felicity’s voice broke saying her best friend’s name. “You have to tell them yourself.”  
  
“I can’t. Promise me,” Tina urged, slipping into her nurse-voice again. “Promise.”  
  
Felicity felt a shake ripple through her body. “I promise.” She choked out past her tears. **  
  
** Through her blurry vision she saw Kristina focus on Oliver. He kneeled on her other side, still in his leather suit but with his hood pulled back, revealing his war-painted eyes. “Hubby. So many things about you suddenly became unbelievably clear.” Kristina swallowed thickly. “Take care of her.”  
  
Pressing his lips together, Oliver nodded. His voice was raspy, “I will.”  
  
“This can’t be happening,” Felicity didn’t even realize the sentence had left her lips. Bending forward, she reached for her best friend, placing her hand on the brunette’s cheek. “Please,” Felicity begged, crying, the desperation audible in her voice, “tell me what to do. There has to be something I can do. Please, I need you to live. I need to fix this.” She gasped for air with a sob full of sorrow. “I can’t believe this. This can’t be happening.”  
  
“That’s what you said when they told you about Jonas.”  
  
“Don’t,” Felicity begged, tears streaming down her face. **  
  
** “I’ll look for him, tell him about you and his crazy daddy. You can do this. Go on and be happy. I love you, hon.” **  
  
** Strength was leaving Kristina. Felicity could see it, could feel life slipping out of her, seeping away from her. Begging, bargaining, it was useless, Felicity felt it—and she knew that it was selfish, making it harder for her best friend who had always made things easy for her. Swallowing heavily, Felicity forced her lips to move and her tongue to form words, knowing that they counted, because they were final. “I love you, Tina.” Her thumb brushed her friend’s cheek. “You’re my bright light.”  
  
For a heartbeat, the barest smile played around Tina’s lips. Then the light in her eyes went out. Staring at her, Felicity’s thumb brushed her skin, tears flowing down her cheeks, dripping from her chin, her nose running. **  
  
** Gently, Oliver brought his hand to Kristina’s face and he closed her eyes. Felicity could feel him looking at her as he whispered. “I’m so sorry, Felicity.” **  
  
** “It shouldn’t have been her.” **  
  
** “I know.”  
  
Her voice wavering with the steady flow of tears, Felicity repeated, “It shouldn’t have been her. Not her!” And with that Felicity crumbled, hugging her dead, best friend, crying against the immovable chest, silent of heartbeats. Oliver’s hand rested on her back, in an act of silent comfort. His touch anchored her in the present as the overwhelming loss threatened to swallow her whole.


	44. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it: the last chapter. While I'm sad it's over, I can't help but feel like it's about time this story comes to an end. It's been an amazing experience for me and that is because of you wonderful, awesome people. The continued support, insightful feedback, and sweet [platonic] love you sent my way has been most perfect. I cannot thank you enough. Please know that I appreciate it, appreciate you SO. Much. Some of you were with me right from the start and reviewed every single chapter. Seriously, you rock my world!
> 
> Also: thank you to everybody who pressed the kudos-button. While posting this story I learned that imaginary kudos are a thing. [I also learned that many of you read fan fiction at work.] This story has... at lot of them. Somebody even sent "all the kudos" my way which I guess means I have an infinite imaginary kudo supply - which is awesome. Thank you for that. I kudo you [imaginary, of course.]
> 
> I know some of you are hoping for a sequel continuing season two in this Vegas!verse. I've learned to never say never and there are obviously some things set up that are tempting to explore, but I have absolutely no plans to re-write season two any time soon. Writing this fic has been a marathon and I don't think I have another one in me just yet. But I have some ideas left, so there will be some more one-shots set in this 'verse. For now that's all I have planned. I'm sorry.
> 
> One final, but big, huge thank you goes to **Albiona** , my rainbow-colored muse of awesome, my grammar-genius, the Willow to my Buffy, my wonderful friend. She invested a lot of time and thought to help me with this story. She came up with the twist of the third Markov-device, remembering the prototype stolen in season two. Thank you, Albi. ♥
> 
> Okay, I babbled enough. Let's do this and end this! I hope you enjoy this last chapter. Until next time. Love, Jules

**(Epilogue)  
**   
**August 27 th, 2013**  
  
Felicity looked breathtaking in green. That wasn’t a surprise; Felicity looked breathtaking in (and out of) everything. But seeing her walk down the aisle, toward him, in a deep green dress robbed him of the ability to do anything but look at her and take her in. She was beautiful—and she wore his color (as much as a color could belong to somebody).  
  
She had warned him a few weeks ago that she planned on wearing something “special” for him that “bordered on obvious and cheesy.” His first guess had been that she would walk toward him in a pencil skirt, blouse, and kitten heels to match their first Vegas-wedding. His question if he should go and buy a polo had been answered with honest consternation and insistent objection. He had been ordered to come looking fabulous in tux. He had promised to follow this dress code—still, Felicity had made sure Thea joined Oliver and Diggle when they went tux-shopping.  
  
Beyond reminiscing on Felicity’s first wedding outfit, Oliver hadn’t given her clothing for their second wedding (or renewal of their vows as it was officially called) much thought. She’d wear something and look gorgeous—that was a given.  
  
He had never pictured himself as a guy who’d swoon over a (wedding) dress.  
  
Turns out, he was wrong.  
  
His eyes traveled over Felicity. The plunging neckline was probably more revealing than was traditional for a wedding dress, but he was most definitely not complaining. Tight around her torso, the green layers of cloth reaching the floor flowed around her legs with each step she took. Her blonde hair was piled up on her head. He had known she wouldn’t wear a veil, he had asked her about it after reading up on Jewish wedding rituals, and she had rejected that particular one, claiming she wanted their eyes to meet when she walked toward him.  
  
He hadn’t been able to argue with that.  
  
Gazing into his eyes, she walked toward him, her hand resting in the crook of Walter Steele’s elbow. Oliver smiled. Her eyes were shining with love and joy; it made her even more beautiful.  
  
Relief flooded him as he saw the happiness lighting up her face. It showed him that – despite everything – this day was a happy one for her.  
  
So many tears had been shed in the last months. The first week after the Undertaking, Oliver had been sure he’d never see Felicity’s beautiful smile again. She had lost her sparkle. Lost her determination. Lost her appetite. Lost interest in anything apart from lying in bed—leaving Oliver lost and desperate.  
  
It had been Thea (of all people), calling from rehab, who had been on the receiving end of his breakdown. Because it was his fault. Stopping the Undertaking had been his mission. It had been the reason he had come home to begin with.  
  
And he had failed.  
  
Multiple city blocks of the Glades had crumbled and fallen, burying one hundred and thirty-three people underneath debris—including Kristina Miles.  
  
Felicity’s best friend was dead and gone. The loss reduced Felicity to a lifeless shell, hidden from the world.  
  
In those weeks Oliver had longed to do the same. The urge to pack his things and flee, to go somewhere where things were simple, where he knew what he was doing, without anybody around he could hurt, had been overwhelming. But he hadn’t given in, and he never would. He couldn’t run away from this, leave the woman he loved alone when she needed him most. He had promised Tina that he wouldn’t, that he would take care of Felicity. He wanted to do that, wanted to be there for her, do something—but he hadn’t known what.  
  
Thea had told him to get into bed with her, hug her, and hold her until she was ready to get up.  
  
They had stayed in bed for two days.  
  
For Felicity, getting up equaled picking herself up (despite her broken right ankle) and making some hard decisions. Stepping down as Firestorm’s CEO to be the Queen in charge of Queen Consolidated had been the hardest. There had also been the hiring of a lawyer to keep track of the DA’s investigations into Felicity Queen’s involvement with the Undertaking (she had been the one to buy Unidac Industries), getting the guestroom ready for Thea to move into something that didn't feel like a guestroom, visiting Moira in jail, planning a wedding, and keeping the promise she had made her dying best friend to try to be happy. It had been a lot. But she had mastered it all.  
  
Felicity Queen was the most amazing woman, and he would spend the rest of his life making sure that she knew.  
  
Their eyes were still linked as he took a step toward her, meeting her and Walter at the end of the aisle. His eyes traveled to the man who was (legally speaking) his stepfather, but was really (emotionally speaking) a father to his wife. Walter Steele, acting CFO of Queen Consolidated, smiled at Oliver. “You’re doing everything right, Oliver. Keep that up.”  
  
An emotional tide that had been rising inside Oliver since he had seen Felicity in her dress swelled at Walter’s words. Oliver couldn’t remember anybody saying something like that to him, telling him he was doing anything right—let alone _everything_. It went against everything he believed to be true: which was his sky-high pile of epic mistakes and failures. Walter’s praise caused the most positive sensation to ripple through Oliver. He pressed his lips together but still managed a thankful nod.  
  
Walter smiled and patted his shoulder, pecked Felicity’s cheek, and placed her hand in Oliver’s. Together, they stepped under the Huppah toward the minister.  
  
Yongtak Chan, Felicity’s man of honor and newly appointed CEO of Firestorm, stood next to her, already wiping the first tear away. John Diggle, the best man, stood tall and proud next to Oliver. The other guests gathered around the canopy. They were so few that they’d been asked to stand close—filling one bench in this church would have been stupid. But those were the people they loved, trusted, and wanted to be here: Thea and Roy, Walter, Tak's boyfriend Christopher, and Diggle’s ex-wife/“friend” Lyla. They had also asked Marcus Grant to come. The gesture meant a lot to Kristina’s boyfriend, it had been obvious. Still, Marcus had asked them to understand that it didn’t feel right to come without Tina by his side. Oliver understood perfectly and kept Felicity from insisting. (Instead, he had brought season tickets for himself, Diggle, Marcus, and Chris for Starling City Stadium. The upcoming football season couldn’t be worse than the Panther’s last one and it felt like an adequate possibility for man-bonding without getting anywhere near awkward male hug territory.)  
  
Oliver wished his mother were here, but despite their best efforts, nobody had been willing to grant a woman charged with a mass murder an afternoon away from prison. And Moira had rejected all offers to postpone the ceremony until she could attend, rightfully stating that that might take years, most likely twenty-five to life. They had promised to bring pictures to their next visit.  
  
Oliver didn’t remember much from the Vegas-ceremony.  
  
He blamed that on the alcohol.  
  
He blamed his lack of concentration the second time around on his overflowing emotions. But unlike the first time, he heard the minister ask the question, “Do you, Oliver Jonas Queen, take this woman to be your wife? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect her, forsaking all others and holding only onto her?”  
  
They had decided to match their vows to the phrasing they’d used at their actual wedding. The wording felt appropriate—and Felicity had admitted that she didn’t want to write her own vows, because she could perfectly picture herself getting lost halfway though only to add a comment about his abs or worse. As much as he would have enjoyed that (even the 'or worse'), he had agreed with her because he wanted this to be everything she wanted it to be.  
  
Holding Felicity’s hand, his eyes set on hers, he inhaled soundly and then said with emphasis, “I do.”  
  
The smile on Felicity’s face turned into a smirk as she added a soft, “Boo-ya!”  
  
Oliver couldn’t help but chuckle because, yes, that had happened six years ago. Even if Tommy Merlyn (who now went by Thomas Lance) wasn’t around (because he had moved to Coast City with his wife, the new Assistant District Attorney of CC), it was nice to have his spirit in the form of an inside joke. He turned to Diggle, took the platinum band from him, and slipped it onto Felicity’s left ring finger, settling it next to the one he had placed there nine months ago (Oliver had taken to call it an engagement ring—with a tracker, because you never know). The wedding band looked perfect to him because it came with a clear message. Diggle, adding his own best man moment, patted Oliver’s shoulder in approval.  
  
Oliver didn’t notice the smiling people around him, didn’t see Thea lean her head against Roy’s shoulder in happy admiration, didn’t notice Walter reaching for a handkerchief. He only had eyes for Felicity and ears for the minister who asked, “Do you, Felicity Megan Queen, take this man to be your husband? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect him, forsaking all others and holding only onto him?”  
  
She beamed up at him. “I do.”  
  
“I hear that is the correct-est answer to anything, _ever_ ,” Tak spoke up from behind Felicity, taking the bouquet (made of white flowers—Oliver couldn’t tell a daisy from a tulip) and handing her a ring, Oliver’s ring. “That is correct,” Oliver confirmed and the guests laughed softly.  
  
Taking his hand, Felicity slipped the plain platinum band in place. Her eyes lingered on it for a second and when they met his he saw joyous approval. “Looks good,” she complimented while he smirked and nodded. Together they turned to the minister. His eyes moved between the couple as he said, “Felicity and Oliver, since you have consented to join together in the bond of matrimony, and have pledged yourselves to each other in His presence and in the presence of these loving friends, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”  
  
On cue, Diggle bent down and positioned a glass wrapped in cloth in front of the groom. (Oliver had insisted on this certain Jewish custom after he read up on it. He loved the unity it represented—and Felicity’s commentary that he only liked to break stuff had been totally uncalled for.) He stepped on the glass and a loud shouting of “Mazel tov!” echoed from around him. Felicity laughed next to him, a sound of honest delight, ringing like music in his ears.  
  
The minister looked at the (strictly not exactly newlywed) couple, focusing on Oliver, “You may kiss your wife.”  
  
That, he didn’t need to be told twice.  
  
  
  
**September 4** **th** **, 2013**  
  
Spending your honeymoon on a deserted island could, potentially, be a very romantic retreat.  
  
It came with the imagery of blue lagoons, white beaches, softly crashing waves, and quiet solitude. In theory, it was perfect. But the ugly truth brought years spent in constant fear and strained helplessness. The memories of uncounted deaths were all around, of people he cared about being ripped from him, of people he had killed with his own hands. Being on this (now) deserted island came with the need to watch their every move, not to step on a landmine or walk into some other potentially lethal trap (most of which he had set himself).  
  
Still, he wanted to bring Felicity here, wanted to stop here for a few days before starting their real honeymoon with a bed, room service, and a shower. He wanted to show all of this to her, tell her some things, more than what he had already shared with her. He wanted to show her where he had ended up feeling at home before she had invited him into her life and dared to build a home with him. Letting her in so far was his way of baring some of his worst demons. It was his way of showing her that he trusted her unconditionally. It was his way of showing her what she had saved him from.  
  
Surprisingly, it wasn’t as painful as he had expected it to be. Much the opposite.  
  
With Felicity by his side he managed to find some romance on Lian Yu.  
  
Lying on their backs, Felicity’s head in the crook of his shoulder, they gazed at the night sky through the gaping hole ripped into the plane’s ceiling. “I can see how this might've made you feel small,” Felicity whispered, as if talking louder would destroy the moment. “I’ve never seen so many stars in my life.” She pointed up. “There’s Orion. And that’s the Big Dipper—and… that’s all I know.”  
  
Oliver brought his own hand up. “See the bright one right below? That’s the North Star.” He showed her Andromeda and Cassiopeia and the few zodiac signs he knew while she pulled his arm closer around herself, interlocking her hand with his.  
  
“This is pretty.”  
  
He nodded silently.  
  
For a few heartbeats they simply lay there. “It’s so quiet,” Felicity breathed. “Now I understand how you can spend hours alone in the Foundry without music or TV or anything.”  
  
“Yeah,” he admitted and felt a strange relief. He had hoped she would get some insight, understand some things better, be able to attach a visual to some of the things he told her. This statement gave him the impression he had at least partly accomplished his goal.  
  
Being on the island with Felicity had most definitely left an impression with him.  
  
Standing next to him by his father’s grave, she had told him of the Jewish custom of placing stones on top of graves, because unlike flowers they never faded. It had made him look differently at his father’s grave, at the pile of rocks he had placed there himself to keep the body from being ripped apart by hungry birds. Suddenly, that self-made grave looked so much better than before.  
  
Following this line of thought, he took his eyes off the star-freckled sky and placed them on Felicity resting in his arms. Quietly, he said, “Maybe we can stop in Las Vegas on our way back from Fiji. I know you lost contact with your family, but we could visit your mother’s grave together.”  
  
Surprised, she looked up at him. She needed a moment before smiling, a touched expression on her face. “Yes, that’s a nice idea.” She settled back to look at the stars. “Talking about graves. Tell me about Shado.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because you said she was a woman who mattered while you were away. Because the hood you wear was hers.”  
  
“I won’t wear it anymore.”  
  
He could feel Felicity tense in his arms. Slowly she sat up and looked down at him. “You mean never?”  
  
“Yes,” he confirmed and stressed, “ _never_.”  
  
“I thought you’d only been taking a break. Like a hiatus.”  
  
“The hiatus is indefinite.” He sighed and quickly pressed his lips together shortly. “I came back to right my father’s wrongs—and I blindly assumed the way to do it was by killing people on a list. It was a fool’s crusade and ultimately I failed. My mission was to stop the Undertaking and I didn’t do that. Innocent people died because I handled so many things poorly. Kristina died because I didn’t get it together.”  
  
“Oliver,” she said gently, her hand coming to rest on his neck, “the Undertaking, Tina’s passing—that’s not your fault. You did everything you could. We all did. Nobody blames you. I don’t blame you.”  
  
“You’ve said that before.”  
  
“And I’ll say it until you believe me.”  
  
“Felicity,” he brushed a strand of her silky blonde hair back, “I came back home with a mission. That mission is done with. I told you: all I want to be from here on out is your husband. I’ll help you at QC, get some insight on how stuff works, take on some representative tasks, whatever you need. I want that….” He smiled up at her. “One year ago I would have never dared to even consider this—a normal life. But you made me see that it’s possible. You made me see the joy in that. I want to be Thea’s brother, John’s friend. I want to be there for mom and Walter. I want us to start a family, get a house, and a backyard.”  
  
She smiled, happy. “I want that, too. The family, I mean.” Her thumb started to caress his skin, “I want you to be happy, Oliver. You deserve happiness.”  
  
“So do you, Felicity.”  
  
“Well,” she said, her voice thick with emotions, “I promised Tina I’d try. I miss her, so much. But… the truth is, as long as you’re in my life, it possible. You make me happy—with or without you wearing another woman’s hood.”  
  
He heard the teasing in her voice and huffed in amusement. Bringing his hand up, he gently pulled her face down to him. “The Hood’s gone,” he assured her, “all that’s left is Oliver Queen.” He kissed her and he felt it in the way she kissed him back, in the way she moved to straddle him and slide her hands under his skirt: right here in his arms lay his happily ever after.  
  
  
**(The End)**


End file.
